LtBftAKY 

University  of 

California 

Irvlnt 


THE  OLD  ADAM 
ARNOLD  BENNETT 


BY      ARNOLD      BENNETT 


NOVELS 

THE  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 

HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

THE  MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

THE  BOOK  OF  CARLOTTA 

BURIED  ALIVE 

A  GREAT  MAN 

LEONORA 

WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 

A  MAN  FROM  THE  NORTH 

ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

THE  GLIMPSE 

POCKET  PHILOSOPHIES 

How  TO  LIVE  ON  24  HOURS  A  DAY 
THE  HUMAN  MACHINE 
LITERARY  TASTE 
MENTAL  EFFICIENCY 

PLAYS 

CUPID  AND  COMMONSENSE 
WHAT  THE   PUBLIC  WANTS 
POLITE   FARCES 
MILESTONES 
THE  HONEYMOON 

MISCELLANEOUS 

THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  AN  AUTHOR 
THE  FEAST  OF  ST.  FRIEND 


GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


THE    OLD    ADAM 

A  Story  of  Adventure 


BY 

ARNOLD  BENNETT 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  OLD  WIVES'  TALE."  "HOW  TO  LIVE 
ON  TWENTY- FOUR  HOURS  A  DAY."  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1913 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 
PART  I 


PAGE 

3 


II    THE   BANK-NOTE 37 

III  WILKINS'S 72 

IV  ENTRY  INTO  THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD     .     .   107 
V    MR.  SACHS  TALKS 137 

VI  LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO    .     .     .     .172 

PART  II 

VII     CORNER-STONE 215 

VIII    DEALING  WITH  ELSIE 257 

IX    THE  FIRST  NIGHT 300 

X    ISABEL  339 


THE  OLD  ADAM 
PART  I 


THE  OLD  ADAM 


A: 


CHAPTER  I 

DOG-BITE 

I. 

4  £     \    ND  yet,"  Edward  Henry  Machin  reflected 
as  at  six  minutes  to  six  he  approached  his 
own  dwelling  at  the  top  of  Bleakridge, 
"  and  yet —  I  don't  feel  so  jolly  after  all!  " 

The  first  two  words  of  this  disturbing  meditation 
had  reference  to  the  fact  that,  by  telephoning  twice 
to  his  stockbrokers  at  Manchester,  he  had  just  made 
the  sum  of  three  hundred  and  forty-one  pounds  in  a 
purely  speculative  transaction  concerning  Rubber 
shares.  (It  was  in  the  autumn  of  the  great  gambling 
year,  1910).  He  had  simply  opened  his  lucky  and 
wise  mouth  at  the  proper  moment,  and  the  money, 
like  ripe  golden  fruit,  had  fallen  into  it,  a  gift  from 
benign  Heaven,  surely  a  cause  for  happiness !  And 
yet  —  he  did  not  feel  so  jolly!  He  was  surprised, 
he  was  even  a  little  hurt,  to  discover  by  introspec- 
tion that  monetary  gain  was  not  necessarily  accom- 
panied by  felicity.  Nevertheless,  this  very  success- 
ful man  of  the  world  of  the  Five  Towns,  having  been 

3 


4  THE  OLD  ADAM 

born  on  the  27th  of  May,  1867,  had  reached  the  age 
of  forty-three  and  a  half  years. 

"  I  must  be  getting  older,"  he  reflected. 

He  was  right.  He  was  still  young,  as  every  man 
of  forty-three  will  agree,  but  he  was  getting  older. 
A  few  years  ago  a  windfall  of  Three  hundred  and 
forty-one  pounds  would  not  have  been  followed  by 
morbid  self-analysis;  it  would  have  been  followed  by 
unreasoning  instinctive  elation,  which  elation  would 
have  endured  at  least  twelve  hours. 

As  he  disappeared  within  the  reddish  garden  wall 
which  sheltered  his  abode  from  the  publicity  of 
Trafalgar  Road,  he  half  hoped  to  see  Nellie  wait- 
ing for  him  on  the  famous  marble  step  of  the  porch, 
for  the  woman  had  long,  long  since  invented  a  way 
of  scouting  for  his  advent  from  the  small  window 
in  the  bathroom.  But  there  was  nobody  on  the 
marble  step.  His  melancholy  increased.  At  the 
midday  meal  he  had  complained  of  neuralgia,  and 
hence  this  was  an  evening  upon  which  he  might  fairly 
have  expected  to  see  sympathy  charmingly  attired 
on  the  porch.  It  is  true  that  the  neuralgia  had  com- 
pletely gone.  "  Still,"  he  said  to  himself  with  jus- 
tifiable sardonic  gloom,  "  how  does  she  know  my 
neuralgia's  gone?  She  doesn't  know." 

Having  opened  the  front  door  with  the  thinnest, 
neatest  latchkey  in  the  Five  Towns,  he  entered  his 
home  and  stumbled  slightly  over  a  brush  that  was 
lying  against  the  sunk  door-mat.  He  gazed  at  that 
brush  with  resentment.  It  was  a  dilapidated  hand- 
brush.  The  offensive  object  would  have  been  out  of 


DOG-BITE  5 

place,  at  nightfall,  in  the  lobby  of  any  house.  But 
in  the  lobby  of  his  house  —  the  house  which  h,e  had 
planned  a  dozen  years  earlier  to  the  special  end  of 
minimising  domestic  labour,  and  which  he  had  al- 
ways kept  up  to  date  with  the  latest  devices  —  in  his 
lobby  the  spectacle  of  a  vile  outworn  hand-brush  at 
tea-time  amounted  to  a  scandal.  Less  than  a  fort- 
night previously  he  had  purchased  and  presented  to 
his  wife  a  marvellous  electric  vacuum-cleaner,  sur- 
passing all  former  vacuum-cleaners.  You  simply 
attached  this  machine  by  a  cord  to  the  wall,  like  a 
dog,  and  waved  it  in  mysterious  passes  over  the 
floor,  like  a  fan,  and  the  house  was  clean !  He  was 
as  proud  of  this  machine  as  though  he  had  invented 
it,  instead  of  having  merely  bought  it;  every  day 
he  enquired  about  its  feats,  expecting  enthusiastic 
replies  as  a  sort  of  reward  for  his  own  keenness;  and 
be  it  said  that  he  had  had  enthusiastic  replies. 

And  now  this  obscene  hand-brush  1 

As  he  carefully  removed  his  hat  and  his  beautiful 
new  Melton  overcoat  (which  had  the  colour  and  the 
soft  smoothness  of  a  damson),  he  animadverted  up- 
on the  astounding  negligence  of  women.  There 
were  Nellie,  his  wife;  his  mother,  the  nurse,  the 
cook,  the  maid  —  five  of  them;  and  in  his  mind 
they  had  all  plotted  together —  a  conspiracy  of  care- 
lessness —  to  leave  the  inexcusable  tool  in  his  lobby 
for  him  to  stumble  over.  What  was  the  use  of 
accidentally  procuring  three  hundred  and  forty-one 
pounds  ? 

Still  no  sign  of  Nellie,  though  he  purposely  made 


6  THE  OLD  ADAM 

a  noisy  rattle  with  his  ebon  walking-stick.  Then 
the  maid  burst  out  of  the  kitchen  with  a  tray  and  the 
principal  utensils  for  high  tea  thereon.  She  had  a 
guilty  air.  The  household  was  evidently  late. 
Two  steps  at  a  time  he  rushed  up-stairs  to  the  bath- 
room, so  as  to  be  waiting  in  the  dining-room  at  six 
precisely,  in  order,  if  possible,  to  shame  the  house- 
hold and  fill  it  with  remorse  and  unpleasantness. 
Yet,  ordinarily,  he  was  not  a  very  prompt  man,  nor 
did  he  delight  in  giving  pain.  On  the  contrary,  he 
was  apt  to  be  casual,  blithe,  and  agreeable. 

The  bathroom  was  his  pecular  domain,  which  he 
was  always  modernising,  and  where  his  talent  for  the 
ingenious  organisation  of  comfort  and  his  utter  in- 
difference to  esthetic  beauty  had  the  fullest  scope. 
By  universal  consent  admitted  to  be  the  finest  bath- 
room in  the  Five  Towns,  it  typified  the  whole  house. 
He  was  disappointed  on  this  occasion  to  see  no  un- 
tidy trace  in  it  of  the  children's  ablution;  some  trans- 
gression of  the  supreme  domestic  law  that  the  bath- 
room must  always  be  free  and  immaculate  when 
Father  wanted  it  would  have  suited  his  gathering 
humour.  As  he  washed  his  hands  and  cleansed  his 
well-trimmed  nails  with  a  nail-brush  that  had  cost 
five  shillings  and  sixpence,  he  glanced  at  himself  in 
the  mirror  which  he  was  splashing.  A  stoutish, 
broad-shouldered,  fair,  chubby  man  with  a  short 
bright  beard  and  plenteous  bright  hair!  His  neck- 
tie pleased  him;  the  elegance  of  his  turned-back 
wristbands  pleased  him;  and  he  liked  the  rich  down 
on  his  forearms. 


DOG-BITE  7 

He  could  not  believe  that  he  looked  forty-three 
and  a  half.  And  yet  he  had  recently  had  an  idea 
of  shaving  off  his  beard,  partly  to  defy  time,  but 
partly,  also  (I  must  admit),  because  a  friend  had 
suggested  to  him,  wildly  perhaps,  that  if  he  dis- 
pensed with  a  beard  his  hair  might  grow  more  sturd- 
ily. Yes,  there  was  one  weak  spot  in  the  middle 
of  the  top  of  his  head  where  the  crop  had  of  late 
disconcertingly  thinned.  The  hair-dresser  had  in- 
formed him  that  the  symptom  would  vanish  under 
electric  massage,  and  that,  if  he  doubted  the  bona- 
fides  of  hair-dressers,  any  doctor  would  testify  to 
the  value  of  electric  massage.  But  now  Edward 
Henry  Machin,  strangely  discouraged,  inexplicably 
robbed  of  the  zest  of  existence,  decided  that  it  was 
not  worth  while  to  shave  off  his  beard.  Nothing 
was  worth  while.  If  he  was  forty-three  and  a  half, 
he  was  forty-three  and  a  half.  To  become  bald 
was  the  common  lot.  Moreover,  beardless,  he 
would  need  the  service  of  a  barber  every  day.  And 
he  was  absolutely  persuaded  that  not  a  barber  worth 
the  name  could  be  found  in  the  Five  Towns.  He 
actually  went  to  Manchester,  thirty-six  miles,  to  get 
his  hair  cut.  The  operation  never  cost  him  less 
than  a  sovereign  and  half  a  day's  time.  And  he 
honestly  deemed  himself  to  be  a  fellow  of  simple 
tastes !  Such  is  the  effect  of  the  canker  of  luxury. 
Happily  he  could  afford  these  simple  tastes;  for, 
although  not  rich  in  the  modern  significance  of 
the  term,  he  paid  income  tax  on  some  five  thou- 
sand pounds  a  year,  without  quite  convincing  the 


8 

Surveyor  of  Taxes   that  he   was   an   honest  man. 

He  brushed  the  thick  hair  over  the  weak  spot,  he 
turned  down  his  wristbands,  he  brushed  the  collar 
of  his  jacket,  and  lastly  his  beard;  and  he  put  on 
his  jacket  —  with  a  certain  care,  for  he  was  very 
neat.  And  then,  reflectively  twisting  his  moustache 
to  military  points,  he  spied  through  the  smaller 
window  to  see  whether  the  new  high  hoarding  of 
the  football-ground  really  did  prevent  a  serious  ob- 
server from  descrying  wayfarers  as  they  breasted 
the  hill  from  Hanbridge.  It  did  not.  Then  he 
spied  through  the  larger  window  upon  the  yard,  to 
see  whether  the  wall  of  the  new  rooms  which  he 
had  lately  added  to  his  house  showed  any  further 
trace  of  damp,  and  whether  the  new  chauffeur  was 
washing  the  new  motor-car  with  all  his  heart.  The 
wall  showed  no  further  trace  of  damp,  and  the  new 
chauffeur's  bent  back  seemed  to  symbolise  an  ex- 
treme conscientiousness. 

Then  the  clock  on  the  landing  struck  six,  and  he 
hurried  off  to  put  the  household  to  open  shame. 

II. 

Nellie  came  into  the  dining-room  two  min- 
utes after  her  husband.  As  Edward  Henry  had 
laboriously  counted  these  two  minutes  almost 
second  by  second  on  the  dining-room  clock,  he 
was  very  tired  of  waiting.  His  secret  annoyance 
was  increased  by  the  fact  that  Nellie  took  off  her 
white  apron  in  the  doorway  and  flung  it  hurriedly 
on  to  the  table-tray  which,  during  the  progress  of 


DOG-BITE  9 

meals,  was  established  outside  the  dining-room  door. 
He  did  not  actually  witness  this  operation  of  un- 
dressing, because  Nellie  was  screened  by  the  half- 
closed  door;  but  he  was  entirely  aware  of  it.  He 
disliked  it,  and  he  had  always  disliked  it.  When 
Nellie  was  at  work,  either  as  a  mother  or  as  the 
owner  of  certain  fine  silver  ornaments,  he  rather  en- 
joyed the  wonderful  white  apron,  for  it  suited  her 
temperament;  but  as  the  head  of  a  household  with 
six  thousand  pounds  a  year  at  its  disposal,  he  ob- 
jected to  any  hint  of  the  thing  at  meals.  And  to- 
night he  objected  to  it  altogether.  Who  could  guess 
from  the  homeliness  of  their  family  life  that  he  was 
in  a  position  to  spend  a  hundred  pounds  a  week  and 
still  have  enough  income  left  over  to  pay  the  salary 
of  a  town  clerk  or  so?  Nobody  could  guess;  and  he 
felt  that  people  ought  to  be  able  to  guess.  When 
he  was  young  he  would  have  esteemed  an  income 
of  six  thousand  pounds  a  year  as  necessarily  impli- 
cating feudal  state,  valets,  castles,  yachts,  family  so- 
licitors, racing-stables,  county  society,  dinner-calls, 
and  a  drawling  London  accent.  Why  should  his 
wife  wear  an  apron  at  all?  But  the  sad  truth  was 
that  neither  his  wife  nor  his  mother  ever  looked 
rich,  nor  even  endeavoured  to  look  rich.  His 
mother  would  carry  an  eighty-pound  sealskin  as 
though  she  had  picked  it  up  at  a  jumble  sale,  and 
his  wife  put  such  simplicity  into  the  wearing  of  a 
hundred-and-eighty  pound  diamond  ring  that  its  ex- 
pensiveness  was  generally  quite  wasted. 

And  yet,  while  the  logical  male  in  him  scathingly 


io  THE  OLD  ADAM 

condemned  this  feminine  defect  of  character,  his  pri- 
vate soul  was  glad  of  it,  for  he  well  knew  that  he 
would  have  been  considerably  irked  by  the  com- 
plexities and  grandeurs  of  high  life.  But  never 
would  he  have  admitted  this. 

Nellie's  face  as  she  sat  down  was  not  limpid.  He 
understood  naught  of  it.  More  than  twenty  years 
had  passed  since  they  had  first  met  —  he  and  a  wist- 
ful little  creature  —  at  a  historic  town-hall  dance. 
He  could  still  see  the  wistful  little  creature  in  those 
placid  and  pure  features,  in  that  buxom  body;  but 
now  there  was  a  formidable,  capable,  and  experi- 
enced woman  there  too.  Impossible  to  credit  that 
the  wistful  little  creature  was  thirty-seven  I  But  she 
was.  Indeed,  it  was  very  doubtful  if  she  would 
ever  see  thirty-eight  again.  Once  he  had  had  the 
most  romantic  feelings  about  her.  He  could  recall 
the  slim  flexibility  of  her  waist,  the  timorous,  melt- 
ing invitation  of  her  eyes.  And  now  —  such  was 
human  existence ! 

She  sat  up  erect  on  her  chair.  She  did  not  apolo- 
gise for  being  late.  She  made  no  inquiry  as  to  his 
neuralgia.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was  not  cross. 
She  was  just  neutral,  polite,  cheerful,  and  appar- 
ently conscious  of  perfection.  He  strongly  desired 
to  inform  her  of  the  exact  time  of  day,  but  his  lips 
would  not  articulate  the  words. 

"  Maud,"  she  said  with  divine  calm  to  the  maid 
who  bore  in  the  baked  York  ham  under  its  silver 
canopy,  "  you  haven't  taken  away  that  brush  that's 


DOG-BITE  ii 

in  the  passage."  Another  illustration  of  Nellie's  in- 
ability to  live  up  to  six  thousand  pounds  a  year; 
she  would  always  refer  to  the  hall  as  the  "  pas- 
sage." 

"  Please'm,  I  did,  m'm,"  replied  Maud,  now  as 
conscious  of  perfection  as  her  mistress.  "  He  must 
have  took  it  back  again." 

"  Who's  *  he  '?  "  demanded  the  master. 

"  Carlo,  sir."  Upon  which  triumph  Maud  re- 
tired. 

Edward  Henry  was  dashed.  Nevertheless,  he 
quickly  recovered  his  presence  of  mind,  and  sought 
about  for  a  justification  of  his  previous  verdict  upon 
the  negligence  of  five  women. 

"  It  would  have  been  easy  enough  to  put  the  brush 
where  the  dog  couldn't  get  at  it,"  he  said.  But  he 
said  this  strictly  to  himself.  He  could  not  say  it 
aloud.  Nor  could  he  say  aloud  the  words  "  neu- 
ralgia," "  three  hundred  and  forty-one  pounds,"  any 
more  than  he  could  say  "  late." 

That  he  was  in  a  peculiar  mental  condition  is 
proved  by  the  fact  that  he  did  not  remark  the  ab- 
sence of  his  mother  until  he  was  putting  her  share 
of  baked  ham  on  to  a  plate. 

He  thought,  "  This  is  a  bit  thick,  this  isl  "  mean- 
ing the  extreme  lateness  of  his  mother  for  the  meal. 
But  his  only  audible  remark  was  a  somewhat  impa- 
tient banging  down  of  the  hot  plate  in  front  of  his 
mother's  empty  chair. 

In  answer  to  this  banging,  Nellie  quietly  began : 


12  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"Your  mother—" 

(He  knew  instantly,  then,  that  Nellie  was  disturbed 
about  something  or  other.  Mother-in-law  and 
daughter-in-law  lived  together  under  one  roof  in 
perfect  amity.  Nay  more,  they  often  formed 
powerful  and  unscrupulous  leagues  against  him. 
But  whenever  Nellie  was  disturbed,  by  no  matter 
what,  she  would  say  "  your  mother "  instead  of 
merely  "  Mother."  It  was  an  extraordinary  subtle, 
silly,  and  effective  way  of  putting  him  in  the  wrong.) 

"  Your  mother  is  staying  up-stairs  with  Robert." 

Robert  was  the  eldest  child,  aged  eight. 

"  Oh !  "  breathed  Edward  Henry.  He  might 
have  enquired  what  the  nurse  was  for;  he  might  have 
enquired  how  his  mother  meant  to  get  her  tea;  but 
he  refrained,  adding  simply,  "  What's  up  now?  " 

And  in  retort  to  his  wife's  "  your,"  he  laid  a  faint 
emphasis  on  the  word  "  now,"  to  imply  that  those 
women  were  always  inventing  some  fresh  imaginary 
woe  for  the  children. 

"  Carlo's  bitten  him  —  in  the  calf,"  said  Nellie, 
tightening  her  lips. 

This,  at  any  rate,  was  not  imaginary. 
'  The    kid    was    teasing    him    as    usual,    I    sup- 
pose? "  he  suggested. 

"  That  I  don't  know,"  said  Nellie.  "  But  I  know 
we  must  get  rid  of  that  dog." 

"Serious?" 

"  Of  course  we  must,"  Nellie  insisted,  with  an  in- 
advertent heat  which  she  immediately  cooled. 


DOG-BITE  13 

"  I  mean  the  bite." 

"  Well  —  it's  a  bite  right  enough." 

"And  you're  thinking  of  hydrophobia,  death 
amid  horrible  agony,  and  so  on." 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  she  said  stoutly,  trying  to  smile. 

But  he  knew  she  was.  And  he  knew  also  that  the 
bite  was  a  trifle.  If  it  had  been  a  good  bite, 
she  would  have  made  it  enormous;  she  would  have 
hinted  that  the  dog  had  left  a  chasm  in  the  boy's 
flesh. 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  he  continued  to  twit  her,  en- 
couraged by  her  attempt  at  a  smile. 

However,  the  smile  expired. 

"  I  suppose  you  won't  deny  that  Carlo's  teeth 
may  have  been  dirty?  He's  always  nosing  in 
some  filth  or  other,"  she  said  challengingly,  in  a 
measured  tone  of  sagacity.  "  And  there  may  be 
blood-poisoning." 

"  Blood-fiddlesticks !  "  exclaimed  Edward  Henry. 

Such  a  nonsensical  and  infantile  rejoinder  deserved 
no  answer,  and  it  received  none.  Shortly  after- 
wards Maud  entered  and  whispered  that  Nellie  was 
wanted  up-stairs.  As  soon  as  his  wife  had  gone, 
Edward  Henry  rang  the  bell. 

"Maud,"  he  said,  "bring  me  the  Signal  out 
of  my  left-hand  overcoat-pocket." 

And  he  defiantly  finished  his  meal  at  leisure,  with 
the  news  of  the  day  propped  up  against  the  flower- 
pot, which  he  had  set  before  him  instead  of  the 
dish  of  ham. 


i4  THE  OLD  ADAM 

m. 

Later,  catching  through  the  open  door  frag- 
ments of  a  conversation  on  the  stairs  which  in- 
dicated that  his  mother  was  at  last  coming  down 
for  tea,  he  sped  like  a  threatened  delinquent 
into  the  drawing-room.  He  had  no  wish  to  en- 
counter his  mother,  though  that  woman  usually  said 
little. 

The  drawing-room,  after  the  bathroom,  was  Ed- 
ward Henry's  favourite  district  in  the  home.  Since 
he  could  not  spend  the  whole  of  his  time  in  the  bath- 
room,—  and  he  could  not !  —  he  wisely  gave  a 
special  care  to  the  drawing-room,  and  he  loved  it 
as  one  always  loves  that  upon  which  one  has  bestowed 
benefits.  He  was  proud  of  the  drawing-room,  and 
he  had  the  right  to  be.  The  principal  object  in  it, 
at  night,  was  the  electric  chandelier,  which  would 
have  been  adequate  for  a  lighthouse.  Edward 
Henry's  eyes  were  not  what  they  used  to  be;  and  the 
minor  advertisements  in  the  Signal,  which  constitu- 
ted his  sole  evening  perusals,  often  lacked  legibility. 
Edward  Henry  sincerely  believed  in  light  and  heat; 
he  was  almost  the  only  person  in  the  Five  Towns 
who  did.  In  the  Five  Towns  people  have  fires  in 
their  grates  —  not  to  warm  the  room,  but  to  make 
the  room  bright.  Seemingly  they  use  their  pride  to 
keep  themselves  warm.  At  any  rate,  whenever  Ed- 
ward Henry  talked  to  them  of  radiators,  they  would 
sternly  reply  that  a  radiator  did  not  and  could  not 
brighten  a  room.  Edward  Henry  had  made  the 


DOG-BITE  15 

great  discovery  that  an  efficient  chandelier  will 
brighten  a  room  better  even  than  a  fire;  and  he  had 
gilded  his  radiator.  The  notion  of  gilding  the  radi- 
ator was  not  his  own;  he  had  seen  a  gilded  radiator 
in  the  newest  hotel  at  Birmingham,  and  had  re- 
joiced as  some  peculiar  souls  rejoice  when  they 
meet  a  fine  line  in  a  new  poem.  (In  concession  to 
popular  prejudice,  Edward  Henry  had  fire-grates  in 
his  house,  and  fires  therein  during  exceptionally 
frosty  weather;  but  this  did  not  save  him  from  be- 
ing regarded  in  the  Five  Towns  as  in  some  ways  a 
peculiar  soul.)  The  effulgent  source  of  dark  heat 
was  scientifically  situated  in  front  of  the  window,  and 
on  ordinarily  cold  evenings  Edward  Henry  and  his 
wife  and  mother,  and  an  acquaintance  if  one  hap- 
pened to  come  in,  would  gather  round  the  radiator 
and  play  bridge  or  dummy  whist. 

The  other  phenomena  of  the  drawing-room  which 
particularly  interested  Edward  Henry  were  the 
Turkey  carpet,  the  four  vast  easy  chairs,  the  sofa, 
the  imposing  cigar-cabinet,  and  the  mechanical  piano- 
player.  At  one  brief  period  he  had  hovered  a  good 
deal  about  the  revolving  bookcase  containing  the 
encyclopedia,  to  which  his  collection  of  books  was 
limited;  but  the  frail  passion  for  literature  had  not 
survived  a  struggle  with  the  seductions  of  the  me- 
chanical piano-player. 

The  walls  of  the  room  never  drew  his  notice. 
He  had  chosen,  some  years  before,  a  patent  wash- 
able kind  of  wall-paper  (which  could  be  wiped  over 
with  a  damp  cloth),  and  he  had  also  chosen  the 


1 6  THE  OLD  ADAM 

pattern  of  the  paper,  but  it  is  a  fact  that  he  could 
spend  hours  in  any  room  without  even  seeing  the 
pattern  of  its  paper.  In  the  same  way,  his  wife's 
cushions  and  little  draperies  and  bows  were  invisible 
to  him,  though  he  had  searched  for  and  duly  ob- 
tained the  perfect  quality  of  swansdown  which  filled 
the  cushions. 

The  one  ornament  of  the  walls  which  attracted 
him  was  a  large  and  splendidly  framed  oil-painting 
of  a  ruined  castle  in  the  midst  of  a  sombre  forest 
through  which  cows  were  strolling.  In  the  tower 
of  the  castle  was  a  clock,  and  this  clock  was  a  re- 
alistic timepiece  whose  fingers  moved  and  told  the 
hour.  Two  of  the  oriel  windows  of  the  castle  were 
realistic  holes  in  its  masonry;  through  one  of  them 
you  could  put  a  key  to  wind  up  the  clock,  and 
through  the  other  you  could  put  a  key  to  wind  up  a 
secret  musical  box  which  played  sixteen  different 
tunes.  He  had  bought  this  handsome  relic  of  the 
Victorian  era  (not  less  artistic,  despite  your  scorn, 
than  many  devices  for  satisfying  the  higher  instincts 
of  the  present  day)  at  an  auction  sale  in  the  Strand, 
London.  But  it,  too,  had  been  supplanted  in  his  es- 
teem by  the  mechanical  piano-player. 

He  now  selected  an  example  of  the  most  expen- 
sive cigar  in  the  cigar-cabinet,  and  lighted  it  as  only 
a  connoisseur  can  light  a  cigar  —  lovingly;  he  blew 
out  the  match  lingeringly,  with  regret,  and  dropped 
it  and  the  cigar's  red  collar  with  care  into  a  large 
copper  bowl  on  the  centre  table,  instead  of  flinging 
it  against  the  Japanese  umbrella  in  the  fireplace. 


DOG-BITE  17 

'(A  grave  disadvantage  of  radiators  is  that  you  can- 
not throw  odds  and  ends  into  them.)  He  chose  the 
most  expensive  cigar  because  he  wanted  comfort  and 
peace.  The  ham  was  not  digesting  very  well. 

Then  he  sat  down  and  applied  himself  to  the 
property  advertisements  in  the  Signal,  a  form  of 
sensational  serial  which  usually  enthralled  him  —  but 
not  to-night.  He  allowed  the  paper  to  lapse  on  to 
the  floor,  and  then  rose  impatiently,  rearranged  the 
thick  dark  blue  curtains  behind  the  radiator,  and 
finally  yielded  to  the  silent  call  of  the  mechanical 
piano-player.  He  quite  knew  that  to  dally  with 
the  piano-player  while  smoking  a  high-class  cigar 
was  to  insult  the  cigar;  but  he  did  not  care.  He 
tilted  the  cigar  upwards  from  an  extreme  corner 
of  his  mouth,  and  through  the  celestial  smoke 
gazed  at  the  titles  of  the  new  music-rolls  which 
had  been  delivered  that  day,  and  which  were 
ranged  on  the  top  of  the  piano  itself. 

And  while  he  did  so  he  was  thinking: 

"  Why  in  thunder  didn't  the  little  thing  come  and 
tell  me  at  once  about  that  kid  and  his  dog-bite?  I 
wonder  why  she  didn't!  She  seemed  only  to  men-> 
tion  it  by  accident.  I  wonder  why  she  didn't  bounce 
into  the  bathroom  and  tell  me  at  once?  " 

But  it  was  untrue  that  he  sought  vainly  for  an 
answer  to  this  riddle.  He  was  aware  of  the  an- 
swer. He  even  kept  saying  over  the  answer  to 
himself: 

"  She's  made  up  her  mind  I've  been  teasing  her 
a  bit  too  much  lately  about  those  kids  and  their 


1 8  THE  OLD  ADAM 

precious  illnesses.  And  she's  doing  the  dignified. 
That's  what  she's  doing!  She's  doing  the  digni- 
fied!" 

Of  course,  instantly  after  his  tea  he  ought  to 
have  gone  up-stairs  to  inspect  the  wounded  victim 
of  dogs.  The  victim  was  his  own  child,  and  its 
mother  was  his  wife.  He  knew  that  he  ought  to 
have  gone  up-stairs  long  since.  He  knew  he  ought 
now  to  go,  and  the  sooner  the  better.  But  somehow 
he  could  not  go;  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  go. 
In  the  minor  and  major  crises  of  married  life  there 
are  not  two  partners  but  four;  each  partner  has  a 
dual  personality;  each  partner  is  indeed  two  differ- 
ent persons,  and  one  of  these  fights  against  the 
other,  with  the  common  result  of  a  fatal  inaction. 

The  wickeder  of  the  opposing  persons  in  Edward 
Henry,  getting  the  upper  hand  of  the  more  virtuous, 
sniggered.  "  Dirty  teeth,  indeed !  Blood-poison- 
ing, indeed!  Why  not  rabies,  while  she's  about  it? 
I  guarantee  she's  dreaming  of  coffins  and  mourning 
coaches  already  I  " 

Scanning  nonchalantly  the  titles  of  the  music-rolls, 
he  suddenly  saw:  "  Funeral  March.  Chopin." 

"  She  shall  have  it,"  he  said,  affixing  the  roll  to 
the  mechanism.  And  added,  "  Whatever  it  is !  " 

For  he  was  not  acquainted  with  the  Funeral 
March  from  Chopin's  Pianoforte  Sonata.  His 
musical  education  had  in  truth  begun  only  a  year 
earlier,  with  the  advertisement  of  the  "  Pianisto  " 
mechanical  player.  He  was  a  judge  of  advertise- 
ments, and  the  "  Pianisto  "  literature  pleased  him 


DOG-BITE  19 

in  a  high  degree.  He  justifiably  reckoned  that  he 
could  distinguish  between  honest  and  dishonest  ad- 
vertising. He  made  a  deep  study  of  the  question  of 
mechanical  players,  and  deliberately  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  "  Pianisto  "  was  the  best.  It  was  also 
the  most  costly;  but  one  of  the  conveniences  of  hav- 
ing six  thousand  pounds  a  year  is  that  you  need  not 
deny  yourself  the  best  mechanical  player  because  it 
happens  to  be  the  most  costly.  He  bought  a 
"  Pianisto,"  and  incidentally  he  bought  a  superb 
grand  piano,  and  exiled  the  old  cottage  piano  to  the 
nursery. 

The  "  Pianisto  "  was  the  best,  partly  because, 
like  the  vacuum-cleaner,  it  could  be  operated  by 
electricity,  and  partly  because,  by  means  of  certain 
curved  lines  on  the  unrolling  paper,  and  of  certain 
gun-metal  levers  and  clutches,  it  enabled  the  oper- 
ator to  put  his  secret  ardent  soul  into  the  music. 
Assuredly  it  had  given  Edward  Henry  a  taste  for 
music.  The  whole  world  of  musical  compositions 
was  his  to  conquer,  and  he  conquered  it  at  the  rate 
of  about  two  great  masters  a  month.  From  Han- 
del to  Richard  Strauss,  even  from  Palestrina  to  De- 
bussy, the  achievements  of  genius  lay  at  his  mercy. 
He  criticised  them  with  a  freedom  that  was  en- 
tirely unprejudiced  by  tradition.  Beethoven  was  no 
more  to  him  than  Arthur  Sullivan;  indeed,  was 
rather  less.  The  works  of  his  choice  were  the 
"  Tannhauser "  overture,  a  potpourri  of  Verdi's 
"  Aida,"  Chopin's  Study  in  Thirds  —  which  ravished 
him  —  and  a  selection  from  "  The  Merry  Widow," 


20  THE  OLD  ADAM 

which  also  ravished  him.  So  that  on  the  whole  it 
may  be  said  that  he  had  a  very  good  natural  taste. 

He  at  once  liked  Chopin's  Funeral  March.  He 
entered  profoundly  into  the  spirit  of  it.  With  the 
gun-metal  levers  he  produced  in  a  marvellous  fashion 
the  long  tragic  roll  of  the  drums,  and  by  the  manipu- 
lation of  a  clutch  he  distilled  into  the  chant  at  the 
graveside  a  melancholy  sweetness  that  rent  the 
heart.  The  later  crescendi  were  overwhelming. 
And  as  he  played  there,  with  the  bright  blaze  of 
the  chandelier  on  his  fair  hair  and  beard,  and  the 
blue  cigar-smoke  in  his  nostrils,  and  the  effluence 
of  the  gilded  radiator  behind  him,  and  the  intimacy 
of  the  drawn  window  curtains  and  the  closed  and  cur- 
tained door  folding  him  in  from  the  world,  and  the 
agony  of  the  music  grieving  his  artistic  soul  to  the 
core  —  as  he  played  there,  he  grew  gradually  hap- 
pier and  happier,  and  the  zest  of  existence  seemed 
to  return.  It  was  not  only  that  he  felt  the  ele- 
mental, unfathomable  satisfaction  of  a  male  who  is 
sheltered  in  solitude  from  a  pack  of  women  that 
have  got  on  his  nerves;  there  was  also  the  more 
piquant  assurance  that  he  was  behaving  in  a  very 
sprightly  manner.  How  long  was  it  since  he  had 
accomplished  anything  worthy  of  his  ancient  repu- 
tation as  a  "  card,"  as  "  the "  card  of  the  Five 
Towns?  He  could  not  say;  but  now  he  knew  that 
he  was  being  a  card  again.  The  whole  town  would 
smile  and  forgive  and  admire  if  it  learnt  that  — 

Nellie  invaded  the  room.  She  had  resumed  the 
affray. 


DOG-BITE  21 

"  Denry !  "  she  reproached  him,  in  an  uncon- 
trolled voice.  "  I'm  ashamed  of  you !  I  really 
am !  "  She  was  no  longer  doing  the  dignified.  The 
mask  was  off,  and  the  unmistakable  lineaments  of 
the  outraged  mother  appeared.  That  she  should 
address  him  as  "  Denry "  proved  the  intensity  of 
her  agitation.  Years  ago,  when  he  had  been  made 
an  alderman,  his  wife  and  his  mother  had  decided 
that  "  Denry  "  was  no  longer  a  suitable  name  for 
him,  and  had  abandoned  it  in  favour  of  "  Edward 
Henry." 

He  ceased  playing. 

"Why?"  he  protested,  with  a  ridiculous  air  of 
innocence.  "  I'm  only  playing  Chopin.  Can't  I 
play  Chopin?  " 

He  was  rather  surprised  and  impressed  that  she 
had  recognised  the  piece  for  what  it  was.  But  of 
course  she  did,  as  a  fact,  know  something  about 
music,  he  remembered,  though  she  never  touched 
the  "  Pianisto." 

"  I  think  it's  a  pity  you  can't  choose  some  other 
evening  for  your  funeral  marches !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  If  that's  it,"  said  Edward  Henry  like  lightning, 
"  why  did  you  stick  me  out  you  weren't  afraid  of 
hydrophobia?  " 

"  I'll  thank  you  to  come  up-stairs,"  she  replied 
with  warmth. 

"  Oh,  all  right,  my  dear!     All  right!  "  he  cooed. 

And  they  went  up-stairs  in  a  rather  solemn  pro- 
cession. 


22  THE  OLD  ADAM 

IV. 

Nellie  led  the  way  to  the  chamber  known 
as  "  Maisie's  room,"  where  the  youngest  of  the 
Machins  was  wont  to  sleep  in  charge  of  the 
nurse,  who,  under  the  supervision  of  the  mother 
of  all  three,  had  dominion  over  Robert,  Ralph, 
and  their  little  sister.  The  first  thing  that  Ed- 
ward Henry  noticed  was  the  screen  which  shut 
off  one  of  the  beds.  The  unfurling  of  the  four-fold 
screen  was  always  a  sure  sign  that  Nellie  was  taking 
an  infantile  illness  seriously.  It  was  an  indication 
to  Edward  Henry  of  the  importance  of  the  dog-bite 
in  Nellie's  esteem.  When  all  the  chicks  of  the  brood 
happened  to  be  simultaneously  sound,  the  screen  re- 
posed, inconspicuous,  at  an  angle  against  a  wall  be- 
hind the  door;  but  when  pestilence  was  abroad,  the 
screen  travelled  from  one  room  to  another  in 
the  wake  of  it,  and,  spreading  wide,  took  part  in  the 
battle  of  life  and  death. 

In  an  angle  of  the  screen,  on  the  side  of  it  away 
from  the  bed  and  near  the  fire  (in  times  of  stress 
Nellie  would  not  rely  on  radiators),  sat  old  Mrs. 
Machin,  knitting.  She  was  a  thin,  bony  woman  of 
sixty-nine  years,  and  as  hard  and  imperishable  as 
teak.  So  far  as  her  son  knew,  she  had  only  had 
two  illnesses  in  her  life.  The  first  was  an  attack 
of  influenza,  and  the  second  was  an  attack  of  acute 
rheumatism,  which  had  incapacitated  her  for  sev- 
eral weeks.  Edward  Henry  and  Nellie  had  taken 
advantage  of  her  helplessness,  then,  to  force  her  to 


DOG-BITE  23 

give  up  her  barbaric  cottage  in  Brougham  Street  and 
share  permanently  the  splendid  comfort  of  their 
home.  She  existed  in  their  home  like  a  philosophic 
prisoner  of  war  at  the  court  of  conquerors,  behaving 
faultlessly,  behaving  magnanimously  in  the  melan- 
choly grandeur  of  her  fall,  but  never  renouncing  her 
soul's  secret  independence,  nor  permitting  herself 
to  forget  that  she  was  on  foreign  ground.  When 
Edward  Henry  looked  at  those  yellow  and  seasoned 
fingers  which,  by  hard  manual  labour,  had  kept  her- 
self and  him  in  the  young  days  of  his  humble  ob- 
scurity, and  which,  during  sixty  years  had  not  been 
idle  for  more  than  six  weeks  in  all,  he  grew  almost 
apologetic  for  his  wealth.  They  reminded  him  of 
the  day  when  his  total  resources  were  five  pounds, 
won  in  a  wager,  and  of  the  day  when  he  drove 
proudly  about  behind  a  mule  collecting  other 
people's  rents,  and  of  the  glittering  day  when 
he  burst  in  on  her  from  Llandudno  with  over 
a  thousand  gold  sovereigns  in  a  hat-box, — 
product  of  his  first  great  picturesque  coup, —  im- 
agining himself  to  be  an  English  Jay  Gould.  She 
had  not  blenched  even  then.  She  had  not  blenched 
since.  And  she  never  would  blench.  In  spite  of  his 
gorgeous  position  and  his  unique  reputation,  in  spite 
of  her  well-concealed  but  notorious  pride  in  him,  he 
still  went  in  fear  of  that  ageless  woman,  whose  un- 
daunted eye  always  told  him  that  he  was  still  the 
lad  Denry,  and  her  inferior  in  moral  force.  The 
curve  of  her  thin  lips  seemed  ever  to  be  warning 
him  that  with  her  pretensions  were  quite  useless,  and 


24  THE  OLD  ADAM 

that  she  saw  through  him,  and  through  him  to  the 
innermost  grottoes  of  his  poor  human  depravity. 

He  caught  her  eye  guiltily. 

"  Behold  the  alderman !  "  she  murmured  with 
grimness. 

That  was  all.  But  the  three  words  took  thirty 
years  off  his  back,  snatched  the  half-crown  cigar  out 
of  his  hand,  and  reduced  him  again  to  the  raw, 
hungry  boy  of  Brougham  Street.  And  he  knew  that 
he  had  sinned  gravely  in  not  coming  up-stairs  very 
much  earlier. 

"  Is  that  you,  Father?  "  called  the  high  voice  of 
Robert  from  the  back  of  the  screen. 

He  had  to  admit  to  his  son  that  it  was  he. 

The  infant  lay  on  his  back  in  Maisie's  bed,  while 
his  mother  sat  lightly  on  the  edge  of  nurse's  bed 
near-by. 

!<  Well,  you're  a  nice  chap ! "  said  Edward 
Henry,  avoiding  Nellie's  glance,  but  trying  to  face 
his  son  as  one  innocent  man  may  face  another,  and 
not  perfectly  succeeding.  He  never  could  feel  like 
a  real  father  somehow. 

"  My  temperature's  above  normal,"  announced 
Robert  proudly,  and  then  added  with  regret,  "  but 
not  much !  " 

There  was  the  clinical  thermometer  —  instrument 
which  Edward  Henry  despised  and  detested  as  be- 
ing an  inciter  of  illnesses  —  in  a  glass  of  water  on 
the  table  between  the  two  beds. 

"  Father!  "  Robert  began  again. 

"  Well,  Robert?  "  said  Edward  Henry  cheerfully. 


DOG-BITE  25 

He  was  glad  that  the  child  was  in  one  of  his  rare 
loquacious  moods,  because  the  chatter  not  only 
proved  that  the  dog  had  done  no  serious  damage, 
—  it  also  eased  the  silent  strain  between  himself  and 
Nellie. 

"  Why  did  you  play  the  Funeral  March,  Father?  " 
asked  Robert;  and  the  question  fell  into  the  tran- 
quillity of  the  room  rather  like  a  bomb  that  had 
not  quite  decided  whether  or  not  to  burst. 

For  the  second  time  that  evening  Edward  Henry 
was  dashed. 

"  Have  you  been  meddling  with  my  music-rolls?  " 

"  No,  Father.     I  only  read  the  labels." 

This  child  simply  read  everything. 

"  How  did  you  know  I  was  playing  a  funeral 
march?"  Edward  Henry  demanded. 

"  Oh,  /  didn't  tell  him !  "  Nellie  put  in,  excusing 
herself  before  she  was  accused.  She  smiled  be- 
nignly, as  an  angel  woman,  capable  of  forgiving  all. 
But  there  were  moments  when  Edward  Henry  hated 
moral  superiority  and  Christian  meekness  in  a  wife. 
Moreover,  Nellie  somewhat  spoiled  her  own  effect 
by  adding  with  an  artificial  continuation  of  the 
smile,  "  You  needn't  look  at  me!  " 

Edward  Henry  considered  the  remark  otiose. 
Though  he  had  indeed  ventured  to  look  at  her,  he 
had  not  looked  at  her  in  the  manner  which  she 
implied. 

"  It  made  a  noise  like  funerals  and  things," 
Robert  explained. 

"  Well,    it   seems   to    me,    you   have   been   play- 


26  THE  OLD  ADAM 

ing  a  funeral  march,"  said  Edward  Henry  to  the 
child. 

He  thought  this  rather  funny,  rather  worthy  of 
himself,  but  the  child  answered  with  ruthless  gravity 
and  a  touch  of  disdain,  for  he  was  a  disdainful  child, 
without  bowels : 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Father."  The 
curve  of  his  lips  (he  had  his  grandmother's  lips) 
appeared  to  say,  "  I  wish  you  wouldn't  try  to  be 
silly,  Father."  However,  youth  forgets  very 
quickly,  and  the  next  instant  Robert  was  beginning 
once  more,  "  Father  1" 

"Well,  Robert?" 

By  mutual  agreement  of  the  parents,  the  child 
was  never  addressed  as  "  Bob  "  or  "  Bobby,"  or  by 
any  other  diminutive.  In  their  practical  opinion  a 
child's  name  was  his  name,  and  ought  not  to  be 
mauled  or  dismembered  on  the  pretext  of  fondness. 
Similarly,  the  child  had  not  been  baptised  after  his 
father,  or  after  any  male  member  of  either  the 
Machin  or  the  Cotterill  family.  Why  should  fam- 
ily names  be  perpetuated  merely  because  they  were 
family  names?  A  natural  human  reaction,  this, 
against  the  excessive  sentimentalism  of  the  Victorian 
era! 

"What  does  'stamped  out'  mean?"  Robert  en- 
quired. 

Now  Robert,  among  other  activities,  busied  him- 
self in  the  collection  of  postage-stamps,  and  in  con- 
sequence his  father's  mind,  under  the  impulse  of  the 
question,  ran  immediately  to  postage-stamps. 


DOG-BITE  27 

"  Stamped  out?  "  said  Edward  Henry,  with  the 
air  of  omniscience  that  a  father  is  bound  to  assume. 
"  Postage-stamps  are  stamped-out  —  by  a  machine 
—  you  see." 

Robert's  scorn  of  this  explanation  was  manifest. 

11  Well,"  Edward  Henry,  piqued,  made  another 
attempt,  "  you  stamp  a  fire  out  with  your  feet." 
And  he  stamped  illustratively  on  the  floor.  After 
all,  the  child  was  only  eight. 

"  I  knew  all  that  before,"  said  Robert  coldly. 
"  You  don't  understand." 

"What  makes  you  ask,  dear?  Let  us  show 
Father  your  leg."  Nellie's  voice  was  soothing. 

"  Yes,"  Robert  murmured,  staring  reflectively  at 
the  ceiling.  "  That's  it.  It  says  in  the  encyclopedia 
that  hydrophobia  is  stamped  out  in  this  country  — 
by  Mr.  Long's  muzzling  order.  Who  is  Mr. 
Long?" 

A  second  bomb  had  fallen  on  exactly  the  same 
spot  as  the  first,  and  the  two  exploded  simultane- 
ously. And  the  explosion  was  none  the  less  ter- 
rible because  it  was  silent  and  invisible.  The  tidy 
domestic  chamber  was  strewn  in  a  moment  with 
an  awful  mass  of  wounded  susceptibilities.  Be- 
yond the  screen  the  nick-nick  of  grandmother's  steel 
needles  stopped  and  started  again.  It  was  charac- 
teristic of  her  temperament  that  she  should  recover 
before  the  younger  generations  could  recover.  Ed- 
ward Henry,  as  befitted  his  sex,  regained  his  nerve 
a  little  earlier  than  Nellie. 

"  I  told  you  never  to  touch  my  encyclopedia,"  said 


28  THE  OLD  ADAM 

he  sternly.  Robert  had  twice  been  caught  on  his 
stomach  on  the  floor  with  a  vast  volume  open  under 
his  chin,  and  his  studies  had  been  traced  by  vile 
thumb-marks. 

"  I  know,"  said  Robert. 

Whenever  anybody  gave  that  child  a  piece  of  un- 
solicited information,  he  almost  invariably  replied, 
"  I  know." 

11  But  hydrophobia !  "  cried  Nellie.  "  How  did 
you  know  about  hydrophobia  ?  " 

"  We  had  it  in  spellings  last  week,"  Robert  ex- 
plained. 

"  The  deuce  you  did !  "  muttered  Edward 
Henry. 

The  one  bright  fact  of  the  many-sided  and  gloomy 
crisis  was  the  very  obvious  truth  that  Robert  was  the 
most  extraordinary  child  that  ever  lived. 

"  But  when  on  earth  did  you  get  at  the  encyclo- 
pedia, Robert?  "  his  mother  exclaimed,  completely 
at  a  loss. 

"  It  was  before  you  came  in  from  Hillport,"  the 
wondrous  infant  answered.  "  After  my  leg  had 
stopped  hurting  me  a  bit." 

"  But  when  I  came  in  Nurse  said  it  had  only  just 
happened!  " 

"  Shows  how  much  she  knew  1  "  said  Robert,  with 
contempt. 

"  Does  your  leg  hurt  you  now?  "  Edward  Henry 
enquired. 

"A   bit.     That's   why   I    can't   go   to   sleep,   of 


course." 


DOG-BITE  29 

"  Well,  let's  have  a  look  at  it."  Edward  Henry 
attempted  jollity. 

"  Mother's  wrapped  it  all  up  in  boracic  wool." 

The  bed-clothes  were  drawn  down  and  the  leg 
gradually  revealed.  And  the  sight  of  the  little  soft 
leg,  so  fragile  and  defenceless,  really  did  touch  Ed- 
ward Henry.  It  made  him  feel  more  like  an  au- 
thentic father  than  he  had  felt  for  a  long  time. 
And  the  sight  of  the  red  wound  hurt  him.  Still, 
it  was  a  beautifully  clean  wound,  and  it  was  not 
a  large  wound. 

"  It's  a  clean  wound,"  he  observed  judiciously. 
In  spite  of  himself,  he  could  not  keep  a  certain  flip- 
pant harsh  quality  out  of  his  tone. 

"  Well,  I've  naturally  washed  it  with  carbolic,0 
Nellie  returned  sharply. 

He  illogically  resented  this  sharpness. 

"  Of  course  he  was  bitten  through  his  stocking?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Nellie,  re-enveloping  the  wound 
hastily,  as  though  Edward  Henry  was  not  worthy  to 
regard  it. 

"  Well,  then,  by  the  time  they  got  through  the 
stocking,  the  animal's  teeth  couldn't  be  dirty. 
Every  one  knows  that." 

Nellie  shut  her  lips. 

"Were  you  teasing  Carlo?"  Edward  Henry  de- 
manded curtly  of  his  son. 

"  I  don't  know." 

Whenever  anybody  asked  that  child  for  a  piece 
of  information,  he  almost  invariably  replied,  "  I 
don't  know." 


30  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"How,  you  don't  know?  You  must  know 
whether  you  were  teasing  the  dog  or  not!"  Ed- 
ward Henry  was  nettled. 

The  renewed  spectacle  of  his  own  wound  had 
predisposed  Robert  to  feel  a  great  and  tearful  sym- 
pathy for  himself.  His  mouth  now  began  to  take 
strange  shapes  and  to  increase  magically  in  area, 
and  beads  appeared  in  the  corners  of  his  large 
eyes. 

"I  —  I  was  only  measuring  his  tail  by  his  hind 
leg,"  he  blubbered,  and  then  sobbed. 

Edward  Henry  did  his  best  to  save  his  dignity. 

"  Come,  come !  "  he  reasoned,  less  menacingly. 
"  Boys  who  can  read  enyclopedias  mustn't  be  cry- 
babies. You'd  no  business  measuring  Carlo's  tail 
by  his  hind  leg.  You  ought  to  remember  that  that 
dog's  older  than  you."  And  this  remark,  too,  he 
thought  rather  funny,  but  apparently  he  was  alone 
in  his  opinion. 

Then  he  felt  something  against  his  calf.  And  it 
was  Carlo's  nose.  Carlo  was  a  large,  very  shaggy 
and  unkempt  Northern  terrier,  but  owing  to  vague- 
ness of  his  principal  points,  due  doubtless  to  a  vague- 
ness in  his  immediate  ancestry,  it  was  impossible  to 
decide  whether  he  had  come  from  the  north  or  the 
south  side  of  the  Tweed.  This  aging  friend  of 
Edward  Henry's,  surmising  that  something  unusual 
was  afoot  in  his  house,  and  having  entirely  forgot- 
ten the  trifling  episode  of  the  bite,  had  unobtrusively 
come  to  make  enquiries. 

"Poor  old  boy  I"  said  Edward  Henry,  stooping 


DOG-BITE  31 

to  pat  the  dog.  "  Did  they  try  to  measure  his  tail 
with  his  hind  leg?  " 

The  gesture  was  partly  instinctive,  for  he  loved 
Carlo ;  but  it  also  had  its  origin  in  sheer  nervousness, 
in  sheer  ignorance  of  what  was  the  best  thing  to  do. 
However,  he  was  at  once  aware  that  he  had  done  the 
worst  thing.  Had  not  Nellie  announced  that  the 
dog  must  be  got  rid  of?  And  here  he  was  fondly 
caressing  the  bloodthirsty  dog!  With  a  hysterical 
movement  of  the  lower  part  of  her  leg,  Nellie  pushed 
violently  against  the  dog, —  she  did  not  kick,  but  she 
nearly  kicked, —  and  Carlo,  faintly  howling  a  pro- 
test, fled. 

Edward  Henry  was  hurt.  He  escaped  from  be- 
tween the  beds,  and  from  that  close,  enervating  do- 
mestic atmosphere  where  he  was  misunderstood  by 
women  and  disdained  by  infants.  He  wanted  fresh 
air;  he  wanted  bars,  whiskies,  billiard-rooms,  and 
the  society  of  masculine  men  about  town.  The 
whole  of  his  own  world  was  against  him. 

As  he  passed  by  his  knitting  mother,  she  ignored 
him  and  moved  not.  She  had  a  great  gift  of  hold- 
ing aloof  from  conjugal  complications. 

On  the  landing  he  decided  that  he  would  go  out 
at  once  into  the  major  world.  Half-way  down  the 
stairs  he  saw  his  overcoat  on  the  hall-stand,  beckon- 
ing to  him  and  offering  release. 

Then  he  heard  the  bedroom  door  and  his  wife's 
footsteps. 

"Edward  Henry!" 

"Well?" 


32  THE  OLD  ADAM 

He  stopped  and  looked  up  inlmically  at  her  face, 
which  overhung  the  banisters.  It  was  the  face  of  a 
woman  outraged  in  her  most  profound  feelings,  but 
amazingly  determined  to  be  sweet. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  What  do  I  think  of  what?     The  wound?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Why,  it's  simply  nothing.  Nothing  at  all. 
You  know  how  that  kid  always  heals  up  quickly. 
You  won't  be  able  to  find  the  wound  in  a  day  or 
two." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  ought  to  be  cauterised  at 
once?  " 

He  moved  downwards. 

"  No,  I  don't.  I've  been  bitten  three  times  in 
my  life  by  dogs,  and  I  was  never  cauterised." 

"  Well,  I  do  think  it  ought  to  be  cauterised." 
She  raised  her  voice  slightly  as  he  retreated  from 
her.  "  And  I  shall  be  glad  if  you'll  call  in  at  Dr. 
Stirling's  and  ask  him  to  come  round." 

He  made  no  reply,  but  put  on  his  overcoat  and 
his  hat,  and  took  his  stick.  Glancing  up  the  stairs, 
he  saw  Nellie  was  now  standing  at  the  head  of  them, 
under  the  electric  light  there,  and  watching  him. 
He  knew  that  she  thought  he  was  cravenly  obeying 
her  command.  She  could  have  no  idea  that  before 
she  spoke  to  him  he  had  already  decided  to  put  on 
his  overcoat  and  hat  and  take  his  stick  and  go  forth 
into  the  major  world.  However,  that  was  no  affair 
of  his. 

He  hesitated  a  second.     Then  the  nurse  appeared 


DOG-BITE  33 

out  of  the  kitchen  with  a  squalling  Maisie  in  her 
arms,  and  ran  up-stairs.  Why  Maisie  was  squal- 
ling, and  why  she  should  have  been  in  the  kitchen 
at  such  an  hour  instead  of  in  bed,  he  could  not 
guess;  but  he  could  guess  that  if  he  remained  one 
second  longer  in  that  exasperating  minor  world  he 
would  begin  to  smash  furniture,  and  so  he  quitted  it. 

V. 

It  was  raining  slightly,  but  he  dared  not  return 
to  the  house  for  his  umbrella.  In  the  haze 
and  wet  of  the  shivering  October  night,  the  clock 
of  Bleakridge  Church  glowed  like  a  fiery  disk 
suspended  in  the  sky;  and,  mysteriously  hanging 
there,  without  visible  means  of  support,  it  seemed 
to  him  somehow  to  symbolise  the  enigma  of  the  uni- 
verse and  intensify  his  inward  gloom.  Never  before 
had  he  had  such  feelings  to  such  a  degree.  It  is 
scarcely  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  never  before 
had  the  enigma  of  the  universe  occurred  to  him. 
The  side  gates  clicked  as  he  stood  hesitant  under 
the  shelter  of  the  wall,  and  a  figure  emerged  from 
his  domain.  It  was  Bellfield,  the  new  chauffeur,  go- 
ing across  to  his  home  in  the  little  square  in  front 
of  the  church.  Bellfield  touched  his  cap  with  an 
eager  and  willing  hand,  as  new  chauffeurs  will. 

"  Want  the  car,  sir?     Setting  in  for  a  wet  night!  " 

"  No,  thanks." 

It  was  a  lie.  He  did  want  the  car.  He  wanted 
the  car  so  that  he  might  ride  right  away  into  a  new 
and  more  interesting  world,  or  at  any  rate  into 


34  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Hanbridge,  centre  of  the  pleasures,  the  wickedness, 
and  the  commerce  of  the  Five  Towns.  But  he 
dared  not  have  the  car.  He  dared  not  have  his 
own  car.  He  must  slip  off,  noiseless  and  unassum- 
ing. Even  to  go  to  Dr.  Stirling's  he  dared  not 
have  the  car.  Besides,  he  could  have  walked  down 
the  hill  to  Dr.  Stirling's  in  three  minutes.  Not  that 
he  had  the  least  intention  of  going  to  Dr.  Stirling's. 
No!  His  wife  imagined  that  he  was  going;  but  she 
was  mistaken.  Within  an  hour,  when  Dr.  Stirling 
had  failed  to  arrive,  she  would  doubtless  telephone, 
and  get  her  Dr.  Stirling.  Not,  however,  with  Ed- 
ward Henry's  assistance ! 

He  reviewed  his  conduct  throughout  the  evening. 
In  what  particular  had  it  been  sinful?  In  no  par- 
ticular. True,  the  accident  to  the  boy  was  a  mis- 
fortune, but  had  he  not  borne  that  misfortune 
lightly,  minimised  it,  and  endeavoured  to  teach 
others  to  bear  it  lightly?  His  blithe  humour  ought 
surely  to  have  been  an  example  to  Nellie !  And  as 
for  the  episode  of  the  funeral  march  on  the 
"  Pianisto,"  really,  really,  the  tiresome  little  thing 
ought  to  have  better  appreciated  his  whimsical 
drollery ! 

But  Nellie  was  altered;  he  was  altered;  every- 
thing was  altered.  He  remembered  the  ecstasy  of 
their  excursion  to  Switzerland.  He  remembered 
the  rapture  with  which,  on  their  honeymoon,  he 
had  clasped  a  new  opal  bracelet  on  her  exciting  arm. 
He  could  not  possibly  have  such  sensations  now. 
What  was  the  meaning  of  life?  Was  life  worth 


DOG-BITE  35 

living?  The  fact  was,  he  was  growing  old.  Use- 
less to  pretend  to  himself  that  it  was  not  so.  Both 
he  and  she  were  growing  old.  Only,  she  seemed 
to  be  placidly  content,  and  he  was  not  content. 
And  more  and  more  the  domestic  atmosphere  and 
the  atmosphere  of  the  district  fretted  and  even  an- 
noyed him.  To-night's  affair  was  not  unique,  but 
it  was  a  culmination.  He  gazed  pessimistically 
north  and  south  along  the  slimy  expanse  of  Trafal- 
gar Road,  which  sank  northwards  in  the  direction 
of  Dr.  Stirling's,  and  southwards  in  the  direction 
of  joyous  Hanbridge.  He  loathed  and  despised 
Trafalgar  Road.  What  was  the  use  of  making 
three  hundred  and  forty-one  pounds  by  a  shrewd 
speculation?  None.  He  could  not  employ  three 
hundred  and  forty-one  pounds  to  increase  his  hap- 
piness. Money  had  become  futile  for  him.  As- 
tounding thought!  He  desired  no  more  of  it.  He 
had  a  considerable  income  from  investments,  and 
also  at  least  four  thousand  a  year  from  the  Five 
Towns  Universal  Thrift  Club,  that  wonderful  but 
unpretentious  organisation  which  now  embraced 
every  corner  of  the  Five  Towns;  that  gorgeous  in- 
vention for  profitably  taking  care  of  the  pennies  of 
the  working  classes;  that  excellent  device,  his  own, 
for  selling  the  working  classes  every  kind  of  goods 
at  credit  prices  after  having  received  part  of  the 
money  in  advance ! 

"I  want  a  change!"  He  said  to  himself,  and 
threw  away  his  cigar. 

After  all,  the  bitterest  thought  in  his  heart  was 


36  THE  OLD  ADAM 

perhaps  that  on  that  evening  he  had  tried  to  be  a 
"  card,"  and,  for  the  first  time  in  his  brilliant  career 
as  a  "  card,"  had  failed.  He,  Henry  Machin,  who 
had  been  the  youngest  mayor  of  Bursley  years  and 
years  ago;  he,  the  recognised  amuser  of  the  Five 
Towns;  he,  one  of  the  greatest  "characters"  that 
the  Five  Towns  had  ever  produced  —  he  had  failed 
of  an  effect! 

He  slipped  out  on  to  the  pavement,  and  saw,  un- 
der the  gas-lamp,  on  the  new  hoarding  of  the  foot- 
ball-ground, a  poster  intimating  that  during  that  par- 
ticular week  there  was  a  gigantic  attraction  at  the 
Empire  Music  Hall  at  Hanbridge.  According  to 
the  posters,  there  was  a  gigantic  attraction  every 
week  at  the  Empire,  but  Edward  Henry  happened 
to  know  that  this  week  the  attraction  was  indeed 
somewhat  out  of  the  common.  And  to-night  was 
Friday,  the  fashionable  night  for  the  bloods  and 
the  modishness  of  the  Five  Towns.  He  looked  at 
the  church  clock,  and  then  at  his  watch.  He  would 
be  in  time  for  the  "  second  house,"  which  started 
at  nine  o'clock.  At  the  same  moment  an  electric 
tram-car  came  thundering  up  out  of  Bursley.  He 
boarded  it,  and  was  saluted  by  the  conductor.  Re- 
maining on  the  platform,  he  lit  a  cigarette,  and 
tried  to  feel  cheerful;  but  he  could  not  conquer  his 
depression. 

"  Yes,"  he  thought,  "  what  I  want  is  change  — 
and  a  lot  of  it  tool  " 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  BANK-NOTE 
I. 

ALDERMAN  MACHIN  had  to  stand  at  the 
back,  and  somewhat  towards  the  side,  of 
that  part  of  the  auditorium  known  as  the 
Grand  Circle  at  the  Empire  Music  Hall,  Hanbridge. 
The  attendants  at  the  entrance  and  in  the  lounge, 
where  the  salutation  "  Welcome "  shone  in  elec- 
tricity over  a  large  Cupid-surrounded  mirror,  had 
compassionately  and  yet  exultingly  told  him  that 
there  was  not  a  seat  left  in  the  house.  He  had 
shared  their  exultation.  He  had  said  to  himself, 
full  of  honest  pride  in  the  Five  Towns:  "This 
music-hall,  admitted  by  the  press  to  be  one  of  the 
finest  in  the  provinces,  holds  over  two  thousand  five 
hundred  people.  And  yet  we  can  fill  it  to  over- 
flowing twice  every  night!  And  only  a  few  years 
ago  there  wasn't  a  decent  music-hall  in  the  entire 
district!  " 

The  word  "  progress  "  flitted  through  his  head. 

It  was  not  strictly  true  that  the  Empire  was  or 
could  be  filled  to  overflowing  twice  every  night,  but 
it  was  true  that  at  that  particular  moment  not  a 
seat  was  unsold;  and  the  aspect  of  a  crowded  audi- 
torium is  apt  to  give  an  optimistic  quality  to  broad 

37 


38  THE  OLD  ADAM 

generalisations.  Alderman  Machin  began  instinc- 
tively to  calculate  the  amount  of  money  in  the  house, 
and  to  wonder  whether  there  would  be  a  chance  for 
a  second  music-hall  in  the  dissipated  town  of  Han- 
bridge.  He  also  wondered  why  the  idea  of  a  sec- 
ond music-hall  in  Hanbridge  had  never  occurred  to 
him  before. 

The  Grand  Circle  was  so-called  because  it  was 
grand.  Its  plush  fauteuils  cost  a  shilling,  no  mean 
price  for  a  community  where  seven  pounds  of  po- 
tatoes can  be  bought  for  sixpence,  and  the  view  of 
the  stage  therefrom  was  perfect.  But  the  alder- 
man's view  was  far  from  perfect,  since  he  had  to 
peer  as  best  he  could  between  and  above  the 
shoulders  of  several  men,  each  apparently,  but  not 
really,  taller  than  himself.  By  constant  slight 
movements  to  comply  with  the  movements  of  the 
rampart  of  shoulders,  he  could  discern  fragments 
of  various  advertisements  of  soap,  motor-cars, 
whisky,  shirts,  perfume,  pills,  bricks,  and  tea,  for 
the  drop-curtain  was  down.  And,  curiously,  he  felt 
obliged  to  keep  his  eyes  on  the  drop-curtain,  and 
across  the  long  intervening  vista  of  hats  and  heads 
and  smoke,  to  explore  its  most  difficult  corners  again 
and  again,  lest,  when  it  went  up,  he  might  not  be  in 
proper  practice  for  seeing  what  was  behind  it. 

Nevertheless,  despite  the  marked  inconveniences 
of  his  situation,  he  felt  brighter,  he  felt  almost 
happy  in  this  dense  atmosphere  of  success.  He  even 
found  a  certain  peculiar  and  perverse  satisfaction  in 
the  fact  that  he  had  as  yet  been  recognised  by  no- 


THE  BANK-NOTE  39 

body.  Once  or  twice  the  owners  of  shoulders  had 
turned  and  deliberately  glared  at  the  worrying  fel- 
low who  had  the  impudence  to  be  all  the  time  peep- 
ing over  them  and  between  them;  they  had  not  dis- 
tinguished the  fellow  from  any  ordinary  fellow. 
Could  they  have  known  that  he  was  the  famous 
Alderman  Edward  Henry  Machin,  founder  and  sole 
proprietor  of  the  Thrift  Club,  into  which  their 
wives  were  probably  paying  so  much  a  week,  they 
would  most  assuredly  have  glared  to  another  tune, 
and  they  would  have  said  with  pride  afterwards, 
"  That  chap  Machin  o'  Bursley  was  standing  behind 
me  at  the  Empire  to-night."  And  though  Machin 
is  amongst  the  commonest  names  in  the  Five  Towns, 
all  would  have  known  that  the  great  and  admired 
Denry  was  meant.  It  was  astonishing  that  a  per- 
sonage so  notorious  should  not  have  been  instantly 
"  spotted  "  in  such  a  resort  as  the  Empire.  More 
proof  that  the  Five  Towns  was  a  vast  and  seething 
concentration  of  cities,  and  no  longer  a  mere  district 
where  everybody  knew  everybody. 

The  curtain  rose,  and,  as  it  did  so,  a  thunderous, 
crashing  applause  of  greeting  broke  forth  —  ap- 
plause that  thrilled  and  impressed  and  inspired;  ap- 
plause that  made  every  individual  in  the  place  feel 
right  glad  that  he  was  there.  For  the  curtain  had 
risen  on  the  gigantic  attraction  which  many  mem- 
bers of  the  audience  were  about  to  see  for  the 
fifth  time  that  week;  in  fact,  it  was  rumoured  that 
certain  men  of  fashion,  whose  habit  was  to  refuse 
themselves  nothing,  had  attended  every  performance 


40  THE  OLD  ADAM 

of  the  gigantic  attraction  since  the  second  house  on 
Monday. 

The  scene  represented  a  restaurant  of  quiet  as- 
pect, into  which  entered  a  waiter  bearing  a  pile  of 
plates  some  two  feet  high.  The  waiter  being  in- 
toxicated, the  tower  of  plates  leaned  this  way  and 
that  as  he  staggered  about,  and  the  whole  house 
really  did  hold  its  breath  in  the  simultaneous  hope 
and  fear  of  an  enormous  and  resounding  smash. 
Then  entered  a  second  intoxicated  waiter,  also  bear- 
ing a  pile  of  plates  some  two  feet  high;  and  the 
risk  of  destruction  was  thus  more  than  doubled  — 
it  was  quadrupled,  for  each  waiter,  in  addition  to 
the  risks  of  his  own  inebriety,  was  now  subject  to 
the  dreadful  peril  of  colliding  with  the  other. 
However,  there  was  no  catastrophe. 

Then  arrived  two  customers,  one  in  a  dress  suit 
and  an  eye-glass,  and  the  other  in  a  large  violet 
hat,  a  diamond  necklace,  and  a  yellow  satin  skirt. 
The  which  customers,  seemingly  well  used  to  the 
sight  of  drunken  waiters  tottering  to  and  fro  with 
towers  of  plates,  sat  down  at  a  table  and  waited 
calmly  for  attention.  The  popular  audience,  with 
that  quick  mental  grasp  for  which  popular  audi- 
ences are  so  renowned,  soon  perceived  that  the 
table  was  in  close  proximity  to  a  lofty  sideboard, 
and  that  on  either  hand  of  the  sideboard  were  two 
chairs,  upon  which  the  two  waiters  were  trying  to 
climb  in  order  to  deposit  their  plates  on  the  top- 
most shelf  of  the  sideboard.  The  waiters  success- 
fully mounted  the  chairs,  and  successfully  lifted 


THE  BANK-NOTE  41 

their  towers  of  plates  to  within  half  an  inch 
of  the  desired  shelf,  and  then  the  chairs  began 
to  show  signs  of  insecurity.  By  this  time  the 
audience  was  stimulated  to  an  ecstasy  of  expec- 
tation, whose  painfulness  was  only  equalled  by 
its  extreme  delectability.  The  sole  unmoved  per- 
sons in  the  building  were  the  customers  awaiting 
attention  at  the  restaurant  table. 

One  tower  was  safely  lodged  on  the  shelf.  But 
was  it?  It  was  not!  Yes?  No!  It  curved;  it 
straightened;  it  curved  again.  The  excitement  was 
as  keen  as  that  of  watching  a  drowning  man  attempt 
to  reach  the  shore.  It  was  simply  excruciating.  It 
could  not  be  borne  any  longer,  and  when  it  could 
not  be  borne  any  longer,  the  tower  sprawled  ir- 
revocably, and  seven  dozen  plates  fell  in  a  cascade 
on  the  violet  hat,  and  so,  with  an  inconceivable 
clatter,  to  the  floor.  Almost  at  the  same  moment 
the  being  in  the  dress  suit  and  the  eye-glass  — 
becoming  aware  of  the  phenomena  —  slightly  un- 
usual even  in  a  restaurant,  dropped  his  eye-glass, 
turned  round  to  the  sideboard,  and  received  the 
other  waiter's  seven  dozen  plates  in  the  face  and 
on  the  crown  of  his  head. 

No  such  effect  had  ever  been  seen  in  the  Five 
Towns,  and  the  felicity  of  the  audience  exceeded  all 
previous  felicities.  The  audience  yelled,  roared, 
shrieked,  gasped,  trembled,  and  punched  itself  in  a 
furious  passion  of  pleasure.  They  make  plates  in 
the  Five  Towns.  They  live  by  making  plates. 
They  understand  plates.  In  the  Five  Towns  a  man 


42  THE  OLD  ADAM 

will  carry  not  seven  but  twenty-seven  dozen  plates 
on  a  swaying  plank  for  eight  hours  a  day,  up  steps 
and  down  steps,  and  in  doorways  and  out  of  door- 
ways, and  not  break  one  plate  in  seven  years !  Judge, 
therefore,  the  simple  but  terrific  satisfaction  of  a 
Five  Towns'  audience  in  the  hugeness  of  the  ca- 
lamity. Moreover,  every  plate  smashed  means  a 
demand  for  a  new  plate  and  increased  prosperity 
for  the  Five  Towns.  The  grateful  crowd  in  the 
auditorium  of  the  Empire  would  have  covered  the 
stage  with  wreaths  if  it  had  known  that  wreaths  were 
used  for  other  occasions  than  funerals;  which  it  did 
not  know. 

Fresh  complications  instantly  ensued  which 
cruelly  cut  short  the  agreeable  exercise  of  uncon- 
trolled laughter.  It  was  obvious  that  one  of  the 
waiters  was  about  to  fall.  And  in  the  enforced 
tranquillity  of  a  new  dread,  every  dyspeptic  person 
in  the  house  was  deliciously  conscious  of  a  sudden 
freedom  from  indigestion,  due  to  the  agreeable  ex- 
ercise of  uncontrolled  laughter,  and  wished  fer- 
vently that  he  could  laugh  like  that  after  every  meal. 
The  waiter  fell;  he  fell  through  the  large  violet  hat 
and  disappeared  beneath  the  surface  of  a  sea  of 
crockery.  The  other  waiter  fell  too,  but  the  sea 
was  not  deep  enough  to  drown  a  couple  of  them. 
Then  the  customers,  recovering  themselves,  decided 
that  they  must  not  be  outclassed  in  this  competition 
of  havoc,  and  they  overthrew  the  table  and  every- 
thing on  it,  and  all  the  other  tables,  and  everything 
on  all  the  other  tables.  The  audience  was  now  a 


THE  BANK-NOTE  43 

field  of  artillery  which  nothing  could  silence.  The 
waiters  arose,  and,  opening  the  sideboard,  disclosed 
many  hundreds  of  unsuspected  plates  of  all  kinds, 
ripe  for  smashing.  Niagaras  of  plates  surged  on  to 
the  stage.  All  four  performers  revelled  and  wal- 
lowed in  smashed  plates.  New  supplies  of  plates 
were  constantly  being  produced  from  strange  con- 
cealments, and  finally  the  tables  and  chairs  were 
broken  to  pieces,  and  each  object  on  the  walls  was 
torn  down  and  flung  in  bits  on  to  the  gorgeous  gen- 
eral debris,  to  the  top  of  which  clambered  the  violet 
hat,  necklace,  and  yellow  petticoat,  brandishing  one 
single  little  plate,  whose  life  had  been  miraculously 
spared.  Shrieks  of  joy  in  that  little  plate  played 
over  the  din  like  lightning  in  a  thunder-storm.  And 
the  curtain  fell. 

It  was  rung  up  fifteen  times,  and  fifteen  times  the 
quartette  of  artists,  breathless,  bowed  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  frenzied  and  boisterous  testimony  to 
their  unique  talents.  No  singer,  no  tragedian,  no 
comedian,  no  wit,  could  have  had  such  a  triumph, 
could  have  given  such  intense  pleasure.  And  yet 
none  of  the  four  had  spoken  a  word.  Such  is 
genius ! 

At  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  call  the  stage-manager 
came  before  the  curtain  and  guaranteed  that  two 
thousand  four  hundred  plates  had  been  broken. 

The  lights  went  up.  Strong  men  were  seen  to  be 
wiping  tears  from  their  eyes.  Complete  strangers 
were  seen  addressing  each  other  in  the  manner  of 
old  friends.  Such  is  art ! 


44  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"Well,  that  was  worth  a  bob,  that  was!"  mut- 
tered Edward  Henry  to  himself.  And  it  was.  Ed- 
ward Henry  had  not  escaped  the  general  fate. 
Nobody,  being  present,  could  have  escaped  it.  He 
was  enchanted.  He  had  utterly  forgotten  every 
care. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Machin,"  said  a  voice  at  his 
side.  Not  only  he  turned,  but  nearly  every  one  in 
the  vicinity  turned.  The  voice  was  the  voice  of  the 
stout  and  splendid  managing  director  of  the  Empire, 
and  it  sounded  with  the  ring  of  authority  above  the 
rising  tinkle  of  the  bar  behind  the  Grand  Circle. 

"Oh!  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Dakins?  "  Edward 
Henry  held  out  a  cordial  hand,  for  even  the  greatest 
men  are  pleased  to  be  greeted  in  a  place  of  entertain- 
ment by  the  managing  director  thereof.  Further, 
his  identity  was  now  recognised. 

"  Haven't  you  seen  those  gentlemen  in  that  box 
beckoning  to  you?"  said  Mr.  Dakins,  proudly  dep- 
recating complimentary  remarks  on  the  show. 

"Which  box?" 

Mr.  Dakins'  hand  indicated  the  stage-box.  And 
Henry,  looking,  saw  three  men,  one  unknown  to 
him;  the  second,  Robert  Brindley,  the  architect,  of 
Bursley;  and  the  third,  Dr.  Stirling. 

Instantly  his  conscience  leapt  up  within  him.  He 
thought  of  rabies.  Yes,  sobered  in  the  fraction  of  a 
second,  he  thought  of  rabies.  Supposing  that,  after 
all,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Long's  muzzling  order,  as  cited 
by  his  infant  son,  an  odd  case  of  rabies  should  have 
lingered  in  the  British  Isles,  and  supposing  that 


THE  BANK-NOTE  45 

Carlo  had  been  infected!  Not  impossible!  Was 
it  providential  that  Dr.  Stirling  was  in  the  audi- 
torium ? 

"  You  know  two  of  them?  "  said  Mr.  Dakins. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  the  third's  a  Mr.  Bryany.  He's  manager 
to  Mr.  Seven  Sachs."  Mr.  Dakins'  tone  was  re- 
spectful. 

"And  who's  Mr.  Seven  Sachs?"  asked  Edward 
Henry  absently.  It  was  a  stupid  question. 

He  was  impressively  informed  that  Mr.  Seven 
Sachs  was  the  arch-famous  American  actor-play- 
wright, now  nearing  the  end  of  a  provincial  tour 
which  had  surpassed  all  records  of  provincial  tours, 
and  that  he  would  be  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  Han- 
bridge,  next  week.  Edward  Henry  then  remem- 
bered that  the  hoardings  had  been  full  of  Mr.  Seven 
Sachs  for  some  time  past. 

"  They  keep  on  making  signs  to  you,"  said  Mr. 
Dakins,  referring  to  the  occupants  of  the  stage-box. 

Edward  Henry  waved  a  reply  to  the  box. 

"  Here !  I'll  take  you  there  the  shortest  way," 
said  Mr.  Dakins. 

II. 

"  Welcome  to  Stirling's  box,  Machin !  "  Robert 
Brindley  greeted  the  alderman  with  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible wink.  Edward  Henry  had  encountered  this 
wink  once  or  twice  before;  he  could  not  decide  pre- 
cisely what  it  meant;  it  was  apt  to  make  him  reflective. 
He  did  not  dislike  Robert  Brindley,  his  habit  was 


46  THE  OLD  ADAM 

not  to  dislike  people;  he  admitted  Brindley  to  be  a 
clever  architect,  though  he  objected  to  the  "  mod- 
ern "  style  of  the  fronts  of  his  houses  and  schools. 
But  he  did  take  exception  to  the  man's  atti- 
tude towards  the  Five  Towns,  of  which,  by  the 
way,  Brindley  was  just  as  much  a  native  as  him- 
self. Brindley  seemed  to  live  in  the  Five  Towns 
like  a  highly  cultured  stranger  in  a  savage  land, 
and  to  derive  rather  too  much  sardonic  amusement 
from  the  spectacle  of  existence  therein.  Brindley 
was  a  very  special  crony  of  Stirling's,  and  had  in- 
fluenced Stirling.  But  Stirling  was  too  clever  to  sub- 
mit unduly  to  the  influence.  Besides,  Stirling  was 
not  a  native;  he  was  only  a  Scotchman,  and  Ed- 
ward Henry  considered  that  what  Stirling  thought 
of  the  district  did  not  matter.  Other  details  about 
Brindley  which  Edward  Henry  deprecated  were  his 
necktie,  which,  for  Edward  Henry's  taste,  was  too 
flowing,  his  scorn  of  the  "  Pianisto  "  (despite  the 
man's  tremendous  interest  in  music),  and  his  in- 
cipient madness  on  the  subject  of  books  —  a  mad- 
ness shared  by  Stirling.  Brindley  and  the  doctor 
were  forever  chattering  about  books,  and  buying 
them. 

So  that,  on  the  whole,  Dr.  Stirling's  box  was  not 
a  place  where  Edward  Henry  felt  entirely  at  home. 
Nevertheless,  the  two  men,  having  presented  Mr. 
Bryany,  did  their  best,  each  in  his  own  way,  to  make 
him  feel  at  home. 

"  Take  this  chair,  Machin,"  said  Stirling,  indicat- 
ing a  chair  at  the  front. 


THE  BANK-NOTE  47 

"Oh,  I  can't  take  the  front  chair!"  Edward 
Henry  protested. 

"  Of  course  you  can,  my  dear  Machin,"  said 
Brindley  sharply.  "  The  front  chair  in  a  stage-box 
is  the  one  proper  seat  in  the  house  for  you.  Do  as 
your  doctor  prescribes." 

And  Edward  Henry  accordingly  sat  down  at  the 
front,  with  Mr.  Bryany  by  his  side;  and  the  other 
two  sat  behind.  But  Edward  Henry  was  not  quite 
comfortable.  He  faintly  resented  that  speech  of 
Brindley's.  And  yet  he  did  feel  that  what  Brindley 
had  said  was  true,  and  he  was  indeed  glad  to  be  in 
the  front  chair  of  a  brilliant  stage-box  on  the  grand 
tier,  instead  of  being  packed  away  in  the  nethermost 
twilight  of  the  Grand  Circle.  He  wondered  how 
Brindley  and  Stirling  had  managed  to  distinguish  his 
face  among  the  confusion  of  faces  in  that  distant 
obscurity;  he,  Edward  Henry,  had  failed  to  notice 
them,  even  in  the  prominence  of  their  box.  But 
that  they  had  distinguished  him  showed  how  fa- 
miliar and  striking  a  figure  he  was.  He  wondered, 
too,  why  they  should  have  invited  him  to  hobnob 
with  them.  He  was  not  of  their  set.  Indeed,  like 
many  very  eminent  men,  he  was  not  to  any  degree 
in  anybody's  set.  Of  one  thing  he  was  sure, —  be- 
cause he  had  read  it  on  the  self-conscious  faces  of 
all  three  of  them, —  namely,  that  they  had  been  dis- 
cussing him.  Possibly  he  had  been  brought  up 
for  Mr.  Bryany's  inspection  as  a  major  lion  and  char- 
acter of  the  district.  Well,  he  did  not  mind  that; 
nay,  he  enjoyed  that.  He  could  feel  Mr.  Bryany 


48  THE  OLD  ADAM 

covertly  looking  him  over.  And  he  thought: 
"Look,  my  boyl  I  make  no  charge."  He  smiled 
and  nodded  to  one  or  two  people  who  with  pride 
saluted  him  from  the  stalls.  It  was  meet  that  he 
should  be  visible  there  on  that  Friday  night! 

"  A  full  house  I  "  he  observed,  to  break  the  rather 
awkward  silence  of  the  box,  as  he  glanced  round  at 
the  magnificent  smoke-veiled  pageant  of  the  aris- 
tocracy and  the  democracy  of  the  Five  Towns 
crowded  together,  tier  above  gilded  tier,  up  to  the 
dim  roof  where  ragged  lads  and  maids  giggled  and 
flirted  while  waiting  for  the  broken  plates  to  be 
cleared  away  and  the  moving  pictures  to  begin. 

"You  may  say  it!"  agreed  Mr.  Bryany,  who 
spoke  with  a  very  slight  American  accent.  "  Da- 
kins  positively  hadn't  a  seat  to  offer  me.  I  hap- 
pened to  have  the  evening  free.  It  isn't  often  I  do 
have  a  free  evening.  And  so  I  thought  I'd  pop  in 
here.  But  if  Dakins  hadn't  introduced  me  to  these 
gentlemen,  my  seat  would  have  had  to  be  a  standing 
one." 

"So  that's  how  they  got  to  know  him,  is  it?" 
thought  Edward  Henry. 

And  then  there  was  another  short  silence. 

"  Hear  you've  been  doing  something  striking  in 
rubber  shares,  Machin?"  said  Brindley  at  length. 

Astonishing  how  these  things  got  abroad! 

"  Oh,  very  little,  very  little !  "  Edward  Henry 
laughed  modestly.  "  Too  late  to  do  much !  In  an- 
other fortnight  the  bottom  will  be  all  out  of  the 
rubber  market!  " 


THE  BANK-NOTE  49 

"  Of  course  I'm  an  Englishman  — "  Mr.  Bryany 
began. 

"  Why  '  of  course  '  ?  "  Edward  Henry  interrupted 
him. 

"Hear!  Hear!  Alderman.  Why  *  of  course  '?" 
said  Brindley  approvingly,  and  Stirling's  rich  laugh 
was  heard.  "  Only  it  does  just  happen,"  Brindley 
added,  "  that  Mr.  Bryany  did  us  the  honour  to  be 
born  in  the  district." 

"  Yes.  Longshaw,"  Mr.  Bryany  admitted,  half 
proud  and  half  apologetic,  "  which  I  left  at  the  age 
of  two." 

"  Oh,  Longshaw !  "  murmured  Edward  Henry 
with  a  peculiar  inflection,  which  had  a  distinct  mean- 
ing for  at  least  two  of  his  auditors. 

Longshaw  is  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  Five 
Towns  from  Bursley,  and  the  majority  of  the  in- 
habitants of  Bursley  have  never  been  to  Longshaw 
in  their  lives,  have  only  heard  of  it,  as  they  hear 
of  Chicago  or  Bangkok.  Edward  Henry  had  often 
been  to  Longshaw,  but,  like  every  visitor  from 
Bursley,  he  instinctively  regarded  it  as  a  foolish  and 
unnecessary  place. 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  resumed  Mr.  Bryany,  quite 
unintimidated,  "  I'm  an  Englishman.  But  I've  lived 
eighteen  years  in  America,  and  it  seems  to  me  the 
bottom  will  soon  be  knocked  out  of  pretty  nearly 
all  the  markets  in  England.  Look  at  the  Five 
Towns!" 

"  No,  don't,  Mr.  Bryany  1"  said  Brindley. 
"  Don't  go  to  extremes." 


50  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Personally,  I  don't  mind  looking  at  the  Five 
Towns,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "What  of  it?" 

"  Well,  did  you  ever  see  such  people  for  looking 
twice  at  a  five-pound  note?  " 

Edward  Henry  most  certainly  did  not  like  this 
aspersion  on  his  native  district.  He  gazed  in  silence 
at  Mr.  Bryany's  brassy  and  yet  simple  face,  and  did 
not  like  the  face  either. 

And  Mr.  Bryany,  beautifully  unaware  that  he  had 
failed  in  tact,  continued :  "  The  Five  Towns  is  the 
most  English  place  I've  ever  seen,  believe  me !  Of 
course  it  has  its  good  points,  and  England  has  her 
good  points;  but  there's  no  money  stirring.  There's 
no  field  for  speculation  on  the  spot,  and  as  for  out- 
side investment,  no  Englishman  will  touch  anything 
that  really  is  good."  He  emphasised  the  last  three 
words. 

"What  d'ye  do  yeself,  Mr.  Bryany?"  inquired 
Dr.  Stirling. 

"What  do  I  do  with  my  little  bit?"  cried  Mr. 
Bryany.  "  Oh,  I  know  what  to  do  with  my  little 
bit.  I  can  get  ten  per  cent,  in  Seattle,  and  twelve 
to  fifteen  in  Calgary,  on  my  little  bit;  and  security 
just  as  good  as  English  railway  stock  —  and  better." 

The  theatre  was  darkened,  and  the  cinemato- 
graph began  its  reckless  twinkling. 

Mr.  Bryany  went  on  offering  to  Edward  Henry, 
in  a  suitably  lowered  voice,  his  views  on  the  great 
questions  of  investment  and  speculation;  and  Ed- 
ward Henry  made  cautious  replies. 

"  And  even  when  there  is  a  good  thing  going  at 


THE  BANK-NOTE  51 

home,"  Mr.  Bryany  said,  in  a  wounded  tone,  "  what 
Englishman'd  look  at  it?" 

"  I  would,"  said  Edward  Henry  with  a  blandness 
that  was  only  skin-deep,  for  all  the  time  he  was 
cogitating  the  question  whether  the  presence  of  Dr. 
Stirling  in  the  audience  ought  or  ought  not  to  be  re- 
garded as  providential. 

"  Now,  I've  got  the  option  on  a  little  affair  in 
London,"  said  Mr.  Bryany,  while  Edward  Henry 
glanced  quickly  at  him  in  the  darkness,  "  and  can  I 
get  anybody  to  go  into  it?  I  can't." 

"What  sort  of  a  little  affair?" 

"  Building  a  theatre  in  the  West  End." 

Even  a  less  impassive  man  than  Edward  Henry 
would  have  started  at  the  coincidence  of  this  re- 
mark. And  Edward  Henry  started.  Twenty  min- 
utes ago  he  had  been  idly  dreaming  of  theatrical 
speculation,  and  now  he  could  almost  see  theatrical 
speculation  shimmering  before  him  in  the  pale  shift- 
ing rays  of  the  cinematograph  that  cut  through  the 
gloom  of  the  mysterious  auditorium. 

"  Oh !  "  And  in  this  new  interest  he  forgot  the 
enigma  of  the  ways  of  Providence. 

"  Of  course,  you  know,  I'm  in  the  business,"  said 
Mr.  Bryany.  "  I'm  Seven  Sachs's  manager."  It 
was  as  if  he  owned  and  operated  Mr.  Seven  Sachs. 

"  So  I  heard,"  said  Edward  Henry,  and  then  re- 
marked with  mischievous  cordiality:  "And  I  sup- 
pose these  chaps  told  you  I  was  the  sort  of  man  you 
were  after.  And  you  got  them  to  ask  me  in,  eh,  Mr. 
Bryany?" 


52  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Mr.  Bryany  gave  an  uneasy  laugh,  but  seemed  to 
find  naught  to  say. 

"  Well,  what  is  your  little  affair?  "  Edward  Henry 
encouraged  him. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  now,"  said  Mr.  Bryany. 
"  It  would  take  too  long.  The  thing  has  to  be  ex- 
plained." 

"Well,  what  about  to-morrow?" 

"  I  have  to  leave  for  London  by  the  first  train  in 
the  morning." 

"  Well,  some  other  time?  " 

"  After  to-morrow  will  be  too  late." 

"  Well,  what  about  to-night?  " 

"  The  fact  is,  I've  half  promised  to  go  with  Dr. 
Stirling  to  some  club  or  other  after  the  show.  Other- 
wise we  might  have  had  a  quiet  confidential  chat  in 
my  rooms  over  the  Turk's  Head.  I  never 
dreamt  — "  Mr.  Bryany  was  now  as  melancholy  as 
a  greedy  lad  who  regards  rich  fruit  at  arm's  length 
through  a  plate-glass  window,  and  he  had  ceased  to 
be  patronising. 

"  I'll  soon  get  rid  of  Stirling  for  you,"  said  Ed- 
ward Henry,  turning  instantly  towards  the  doctor. 
The  ways  of  Providence  had  been  made  plain  to 
Edward  Henry.  "  I  say,  Doc !  "  But  the  Doctor 
and  Brindley  were  in  conversation  with  another  man 
at  the  open  door  of  the  box. 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  Stirling. 

"  I've  come  to  fetch  you.  You're  wanted  at  my 
place." 

"  Well,  you're  a  caution !  "  said  Stirling. 


THE  BANK-NOTE  53 

"  Why  am  I  a  caution?  "  Edward  Henry  smooth- 
ly protested.  "  I  didn't  tell  you  before  because  I 
didn't  want  to  spoil  your  fun." 

Stirling's  mien  was  not  happy. 

"  Did  they  tell  you  I  was  here?  "  he  asked. 

"You'd  almost  think  so,  wouldn't  you?"  said 
Edward  Henry  in  a  playful,  enigmatic  tone.  After 
all,  he  decided  privately,  his  wife  was  right:  it  was 
better  that  Stirling  should  see  the  infant.  And 
there  was  also  this  natural  human  thought  in  his 
mind:  he  objected  to  the  doctor  giving  an  entire 
evening  to  diversions  away  from  home;  he  consid- 
ered that  a  doctor,  when  not  on  a  round  of  visits, 
ought  to  be  forever  in  his  consulting-room,  ready 
for  a  sudden  call  of  emergency.  It  was  monstrous 
that  Stirling  should  have  proposed,  after  an  esca- 
pade at  the  music-hall,  to  spend  further  hours  with 
chance  acquaintances  in  vague  clubs!  Half  the 
town  might  fall  sick  and  die  while  the  doctor  was 
vainly  amusing  himself.  Thus  the  righteous  lay- 
man in  Edward  Henry! 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Stirling. 

"  My  eldest's  been  rather  badly  bitten  by  a  dog, 
and  the  missis  wants  it  cauterized." 

"Really?" 

"  Well,  you  bet  she  does!  " 

"Where's  the  bite?" 

"  In  the  calf." 

The  other  man  at  the  door  having  departed, 
Robert  Brindley  abruptly  joined  the  conversation  at 
this  point. 


54  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  I  suppose  you've  heard  of  that  case  of  hydro- 
phobia at  Bleakridge?"  said  Brindley. 

Edward  Henry's  heart  jumped. 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  he  said  anxiously.  "  What  is 
it?" 

He  gazed  at  the  white  blur  of  Brindley's  face  in 
the  darkened  box,  and  he  could  hear  the  rapid 
clicking  of  the  cinematograph  behind  him. 

"  Didn't  you  see  it  in  the  Signal?  " 

"  No." 

"  Neither  did  I,"  said  Brindley. 

At  the  same  moment  the  moving  pictures  came 
to  an  end,  the  theatre  was  filled  with  light,  and  the 
band  began  to  play,  "  God  Save  the  King." 
Brindley  and  Stirling  were  laughing.  And  indeed, 
Brindley  had  scored,  this  time,  over  the  unparalleled 
card  of  the  Five  Towns. 

"  I  make  you  a  present  of  that,"  said  Edward 
Henry.  "  But  my  wife's  most  precious  infant  has 
to  be  cauterized,  Doctor,"  he  added  firmly. 

"Got  your  car  here?"  Stirling  questioned. 

"No.     Have  you?" 

"  No." 

"Well,  there's  the  tram.  I'll  follow  you  later. 
I've  some  business  round  this  way.  Persuade  my 
wife  not  to  worry,  will  you?  " 

And  when  a  discontented  Dr.  Stirling  had  made 
his  excuses  and  adieux  to  Mr.  Bryany,  and  Robert 
Brindley  had  decided  that  he  could  not  leave  his 
crony  to  travel  by  tram-car  alone,  and  the  two  men 


THE  BANK-NOTE  55 

had  gone,  then  Edward  Henry  turned  to  Mr.  Bry- 
any : 

;<  That's  how  I  get  rid  of  the  doctor,  you  see." 

"  But  has  your  child  been  bitten  by  a  dog?  "  asked 
Mr.  Bryany,  acutely  perplexed. 

'  You'd  almost  think  so,  wouldn't  you?  "  Edward 
Henry  replied,  carefully  non-committal.  "  What 
price  going  to  the  Turk's  Head  now?  " 

He  remembered  with  satisfaction,  and  yet  with 
misgiving,  a  remark  made  to  him,  a  judgment 
passed  on  him,  by  a  very  old  woman  very  many 
years  before.  This  discerning  hag,  the  Widow 
Hullins  by  name,  had  said  to  him  briefly,  "  Well, 
you're  a  queer  'un!  " 

III. 

Within  five  minutes  he  was  following  Mr.  Bry- 
any into  a  small  parlour  on  the  first  floor  of  the 
Turk's  Head,  a  room  with  which  he  had  no  previous 
acquaintance,  though,  like  most  industrious  men  of 
affairs  in  metropolitan  Hanbridge,  he  reckoned  to 
know  something  about  the  Turk's  Head.  Mr. 
Bryany  turned  up  the  gas  (the  Turk's  Head  took 
pride  in  being  a  "  hostelry,"  and,  while  it  had  ac- 
customed itself  to  incandescent  mantles  on  the 
ground  floor,  it  had  not  yet  conquered  a  natural 
distaste  for  electricity)  and  Edward  Henry  saw  a 
smart  despatch-box,  a  dress  suit,  a  trouser-stretcher, 
and  other  necessaries  of  theatrical  business  life  at 
large  in  the  apartment. 


56  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  I've  never  seen  this  room  before,"  said  Ed- 
ward Henry. 

"  Take  your  overcoat  off  and  sit  down,  will  you?  " 
said  Mr.  Bryany  as  he  turned  to  replenish  the  fire 
from  a  bucket.  "  It's  my  private  sitting-room. 
Whenever  I  am  on  my  travels,  I  always  take  a  pri- 
vate sitting-room.  It  pays,  you  know.  Of  course 
I  mean  if  I'm  alone.  When  I'm  looking  after  Mr. 
Sachs,  of  course  we  share  a  sitting-room." 

Edward  Henry  agreed  lightly: 

"  I  suppose  so." 

But  the  fact  was  that  he  was  much  impressed. 
He  himself  had  never  taken  a  private  sitting-room 
in  any  hotel.  He  had  sometimes  felt  the  desire,  but 
he  had  not  had  the  "  face,"  as  they  say  down  there, 
to  do  it.  To  take  a  private  sitting-room  in  a  hotel 
was  generally  regarded  in  the  Five  Towns  as  the 
very  summit  of  dashing  expensiveness  and  futile 
luxury. 

"  I  didn't  know  they  had  private  sitting-rooms 
in  this  shanty,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

Mr.  Bryany,  having  finished  with  the  fire,  fronted 
him,  shovel  in  hand,  with  a  remarkable  air  of  con- 
summate wisdom,  and  replied: 

"  You  can  generally  get  what  you  want  if  you  in- 
sist on  having  it,  even  in  this  '  shanty.' ' 

Edward  Henry  regretted  his  use  of  the  word 
"  shanty."  Inhabitants  of  the  Five  Towns  may  al- 
low themselves  to  twit  the  historic  and  excellent 
Turk's  Head,  but  they  do  not  extend  the  privilege 
to  strangers.  And  in  justice  to  the  Turk's  Head, 


THE  BANK-NOTE  57 

it  is  to  be  clearly  stated  that  it  did  no  more  to  cow 
and  discourage  travellers  than  any  other  provincial 
hotel  in  England.  It  was  a  sound  and  serious  Eng- 
lish provincial  hotel;  and  it  linked  century  to  cen- 
tury. 

Said  Mr.  Bryany: 

"  'Merica's  the  place  for  hotels." 

"Yes,  I  expect  it  is." 

"Been  to  Chicago?" 

"  No,  I  haven't." 

Mr.  Bryany,  as  he  removed  his  overcoat,  could 
be  seen  politely  forbearing  to  raise  his  eyebrows. 

"  Of  course  you've  been  to  New  York?  " 

Edward  Henry  would  have  given  all  he  had  in 
his  pockets  to  be  able  to  say  that  he  had  been  to 
New  York,  but,  by  some  inexplicable  negligence,  he 
had  hitherto  omitted  to  go  to  New  York,  and,  being 
a  truthful  person,  except  in  the  gravest  crises,  he 
was  obliged  to  answer  miserably: 

"  No,  I  haven't." 

Mr.  Bryany  gazed  at  him  with  amazement  and 
compassion,  apparently  staggered  by  the  discovery 
that  there  existed  in  England  a  man  of  the  world 
who  had  contrived  to  struggle  on  for  forty  years 
without  perfecting  his  education  by  a  visit  to  New 
York. 

Edward  Henry  could  not  tolerate  Mr.  Bryany's 
look.  It  was  a  look  which  he  had  never  been  able 
to  tolerate  on  the  features  of  anybody  whatsoever. 
He  reminded  himself  that  his  secret  object  in  ac- 
companying Mr.  Bryany  to  the  Turk's  Head  was  to 


5&  THE  OLD  ADAM 

repay  Mr.  Bryany  —  in  what  coin  he  knew  not  yet 
—  for  the  aspersions  which  at  the  music-hall  he  had 
cast  upon  England  in  general  and  upon  the  Five 
Towns  in  particular,  and  also  to  get  revenge  for 
having  been  tricked  into  believing,  even  for  a  mo- 
ment, that  there  was  really  a  case  of  hydrophobia 
at  Bleakridge.  It  is  true  that  Mr.  Bryany  was  in- 
nocent of  this  deception,  which  had  been  accom- 
plished by  Robert  Brindley,  but  that  was  a  detail 
which  did  not  trouble  Edward  Henry,  who  lumped 
his  grievances  together  —  for  convenience. 

He  had  been  reflecting  that  some  sentimental  peo- 
ple, unused  to  the  ways  of  paternal  affection  in  the 
Five  Towns,  might  consider  him  a  rather  callous 
father;  he  had  been  reflecting,  again,  that  Nellie's 
suggestion  of  blood-poisoning  might  not  be  as 
entirely  foolish  as  feminine  suggestions  in  such 
circumstances  too  often  are.  But  now  he  put  these 
thoughts  away,  reassuring  himself  against  hydro- 
phobia anyhow,  by  the  recollection  of  the  definite 
statement  of  the  Encyclopedia.  Moreover,  had  he 
not  inspected  the  wound  —  as  healthy  a  wound  as 
you  could  wish  for? 

And  he  said  in  a  new  tone,  very  curtly: 

"  Now,  Mr.  Bryany,  what  about  this  little  affair 
of  yours?  " 

He  saw  that  Mr.  Bryany  accepted  the  implied  re- 
buke with  the  deference  properly  shown  by  a  man 
who  needs  something  towards  the  man  in  posses- 
sion of  what  he  needs.  And  studying  the  fellow's 
countenance,  he  decided  that,  despite  its  brassiness 


THE  BANK-NOTE  59 

and  simple  cunning,  it  was  scarcely  the  countenance 
of  a  rascal. 

"Well,  it's  like  this,"  said  Mr.  Bryany,  sitting 
down  opposite  Edward  Henry  at  the  centre  table, 
and  reaching  with  obsequious  liveliness  for  the  de- 
spatch-box. 

He  drew  from  the  despatch-box,  which  was  let- 
tered "  W.  C.  B.,"  first  a  cut-glass  flask  of  whisky, 
with  a  patent  stopper,  and  then  a  spacious  box  of 
cigarettes. 

"  I  always  travel  with  the  right  sort,"  he  re- 
marked, holding  the  golden  liquid  up  to  the  light. 
"  It's  safer,  and  it  saves  any  trouble  with  orders 
after  closing-time.  These  English  hotels,  you 
know—!" 

So  saying,  he  dispensed  whisky  and  cigarettes, 
there  being  a  siphon  and  glasses,  and  three  matches 
in  a  match-stand,  on  the  table. 

"Here's  looking!"  he  said,  with  raised  glass. 

And  Edward  Henry  responded,  in  conformity 
with  the  changeless  ritual  of  the  Five  Towns: 

"I  looks!" 

And  they  sipped. 

Whereupon  Mr.  Bryany  next  drew  from  the  de- 
spatch-box a  piece  of  transparent  paper. 

"  I  want  you  to  look  at  this  plan  of  Piccadilly  Cir- 
cus and  environs,"  said  he. 

Now  there  is  a  Piccadilly  in  Hanbridge;  also  a 
Pall  Mall,  and  a  Chancery  Lane.  The  adjective 
"  metropolitan,"  applied  to  Hanbridge  is  just. 

"London?"     questioned    Edward    Henry.     "I 


60  THE  OLD  ADAM 

understood  London  when  we  were  chatting  over 
there."  With  his  elbow  he  indicated  the  music- 
hall,  somewhere  vaguely  outside  the  room. 

"  London,"  said  Mr.  Bryany. 

And  Edward  Henry  thought: 

"  What  on  earth  am  I  meddling  with  London  for? 
What  use  should  I  be  in  London?  " 

"  You  see  the  plot  marked  in  red?  "  Mr.  Bryany 
proceeded.  "  Well,  that's  the  site.  There's  an  old 
chapel  on  it  now." 

"What  do  all  these  straight  lines  mean?"  Ed- 
ward Henry  inquired,  examining  the  plan.  Lines 
radiated  from  the  red  plot  in  various  directions. 

"  Those  are  the  lines  of  vision,"  said  Mr.  Bry- 
any. "  They  show  just  where  an  electric  sign  at  the 
corner  of  the  front  of  the  proposed  theatre  could 
be  seen  from.  You  notice  the  site  is  not  in  the 
Circus  itself  —  a  shade  to  the  north."  Mr.  Bry- 
any's  finger  approached  Edward  Henry's  on  the 
plan  and  the  clouds  from  their  cigarettes  fraternally 
mingled.  "  Now  you  see  by  those  lines  that  the 
electric  sign  of  the  proposed  theatre  would  be  visible 
from  nearly  the  whole  of  Piccadilly  Circus,  parts 
of  Lower  Regent  Street,  Coventry  Street,  and  even 
Shaftesbury  Avenue.  You  see  what  a  site  it  is  — 
absolutely  unique." 

Edward  Henry  asked  coldly: 

"  Have  you  bought  it?  " 

"  No,"  Mr.  Bryany  seemed  to  apologise,  "  I 
haven't  exactly  bought  it;  but  I've  got  an  option  on 
it." 


THE  BANK-NOTE  61 

The  magic  word  "  option  "  wakened  the  drowsy 
speculator  in  Edward  Henry.  And  the  mere  act 
of  looking  at  the  plan  endowed  the  plot  of  land  with 
reality.  There  it  was.  It  existed. 

"An  option  to  buy  it?" 

"  You  can't  buy  land  in  the  West  End  of  Lon- 
don," said  Mr.  Bryany  sagely.  "  You  can  only 
lease  it." 

"  Well,  of  course,"  Edward  Henry  concurred. 

"  The  freehold  belongs  to  Lord  Woldo,  now 
aged  six  months." 

"  Really!  "  murmured  Edward  Henry. 

"  I've  got  an  option  to  take  up  the  remainder  of 
the  lease,  with  sixty-four  years  to  run,  on  the  condi- 
tion I  put  up  a  theatre.  And  the  option  expires  in 
exactly  a  fortnight's  time." 

Edward  Henry  frowned,  and  then  asked: 

"  What  are  the  figures?  " 

"  That  is  to  say,"  Mr.  Bryany  corrected  himself, 
smiling  courteously,  "  I've  got  half  the  option." 

"  And  who's  got  the  other  half?  " 

"  Rose  Euclid's  got  the  other  half." 

At  the  mention  of  the  name  of  one  of  the  most 
renowned  star  actresses  in  England,  Edward  Henry 
excusably  started. 

"  Not  the  —  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

Mr.  Bryany  nodded  proudly,  blowing  out  much 
smoke. 

"  Tell  me,"  asked  Edward  Henry,  confidentially, 
leaning  forward,  "  where  do  those  ladies  get  their 
names  from?  " 


62  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  It  happens  in  this  case  to  be  her  real  name,"  said 
Mr.  Bryany.  "  Her  father  kept  a  tobacconists' 
shop  in  Cheapside.  The  sign  was  kept  up  for  many 
years,  until  Rose  paid  to  have  it  changed." 

"  Well,  well !  "  breathed  Edward  Henry,  secretly 
thrilled  by  these  extraordinary  revelations.  "  And 
so  you  and  she  have  got  it  between  you?  " 

Mr.  Bryany  said: 

"  I  bought  half  of  it  from  her  some  time  ago. 
She  was  badly  hard  up  for  a  hundred  pounds,  and  I 
let  her  have  the  money."  He  threw  away  his 
cigarette  half-smoked,  with  a  free  gesture  that 
seemed  to  imply  that  he  was  capable  of  parting  with 
a  hundred  pounds  just  as  easily. 

"  How  did  she  get  the  option?  "  Edward  Henry 
inquired,  putting  into  the  query  all  the  innuendo  of 
a  man  accustomed  to  look  at  great  worldly  affairs 
from  the  inside. 

"  How  did  she  get  it?  She  got  it  from  the  late 
Lord  Woldo.  She  was  always  very  friendly  with 
the  late  Lord  Woldo,  you  know."  Edward  Henry 
nodded.  "  Why,  she  and  the  Countess  of  Chell 
are  as  thick  as  thieves !  You  know  something  about 
the  countess  down  here,  I  reckon?  " 

The  Countess  of  Chell  was  the  wife  of  the  su- 
preme local  magnate. 

Edward  Henry  answered  calmly,  "We  do." 

He  was  tempted  to  relate  a  unique  adventure  of 
his  youth,  when  he  had  driven  the  countess  to  a 
public  meeting  in  his  mule-carriage;  but  sheer  pride 
kept  him  silent. 


THE  BANK-NOTE  63 

"  I  asked  you  for  the  figures,"  he  added  in  a 
manner  which  requested  Mr.  Bryany  to  remember 
that  he  was  the  founder,  chairman,  and  proprietor 
of  the  Five  Towns  Universal  Thrift  Club,  one  of 
the  most  successful  business  organisations  in  the 
Midlands. 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Mr.  Bryany,  passing  across 
the  table  a  sheet  of  paper. 

And  as  Edward  Henry  studied  them  he  could 
hear  Mr.  Bryany  faintly  cooing  into  his  ear:  "Of 
course  Rose  got  the  ground-rent  reduced.  And 
when  I  tell  you  that  the  demand  for  theatres  in  the 
West  End  far  exceeds  the  supply,  and  that  theatre 
rents  are  always  going  up;  when  I  tell  you  that  a 
theatre  costing  £25,000  to  build  can  be  let  for  £n,- 
ooo  a  year,  and  often  £300  a  week  on  a  short 
term  — "  And  he  could  hear  the  gas  singing  over 
his  head;  and  also,  unhappily,  he  could  hear  Dr. 
Stirling  talking  to  his  wife  and  saying  to  her  that 
the  bite  was  far  more  serious  than  it  looked,  and 
Nellie  hoping  very  audibly  -that  nothing  had  "  hap- 
pened "  to  him,  her  still  absent  husband.  And  then 
he  could  hear  Mr.  Bryany  again: 

"When  I  tell  you—" 

"  When  you  tell  me  all  this,  Mr.  Bryany,"  he 
interrupted  with  the  ferocity  which  in  the  Five 
Towns  is  regarded  as  mere  directness,  "  I  wonder 
why  the  devil  you  want  to  sell  your  half  of  the  op- 
tion if  you  do  want  to  sell  it.  Do  you  want  to  sell 
it?" 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  Mr.  Bryany  as  if 


64  THE  OLD  ADAM 

up  to  that  moment  he  had  told  naught  but  lies,  "  I 
do." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  I'm  always  travelling  about,  you  see.  Eng- 
land one  day,  America  the  next."  Apparently  he 
had  quickly  abandoned  the  strictness  of  veracity. 
"  All  depends  on  the  governor's  movements.  I 
couldn't  keep  a  proper  eye  on  an  affair  of  that  kind." 

Edward  Henry  laughed: 

"And  could  I?" 

"  Chance  for  you  to  go  a  bit  oftener  to  London," 
said  Mr.  Bryany,  laughing  too.  Then,  with  ex- 
treme and  convincing  seriousness,  "  You're  the  very 
man  for  a  thing  of  that  kind.  And  you  know  it." 

Edward  Henry  was  not  displeased  by  this  flattery. 

"How  much?" 

"How  much?  Well,  I  told  you  frankly  what  I 
paid.  I  made  no  concealment  of  that,  did  I  now? 
Well,  I  want  what  I  paid.  It's  worth  it !  " 

"  Got  a  copy  of  the  option,  I  hope !  " 

Mr.  Bryany  produced  a  copy  of  the  option. 

"  I  am  nothing  but  an  infernal  ass  to  mix  my- 
self up  in  a  mad  scheme  like  this,"  said  Edward 
Henry  to  his  soul,  perusing  the  documents.  "  It's 
right  off  my  line,  right  bang  off  it.  But  what  a  lark  I  " 
But  even  to  his  soul  he  did  not  utter  the  remainder 
of  the  truth  about  himself,  namely,  "  I  should  like 
to  cut  a  dash  before  this  insufferable  patroniser  of 
England  and  the  Five  Towns." 

Suddenly  something  snapped  within  him,  a.id  he 
said  to  Mr.  Bryany: 


THE  BANK-NOTE  65 

"I'm  on!" 

Those  words  and  no  more ! 

"You  are?"  Mr.  Bryany  exclaimed,  mistrusting 
his  ears. 

Edward  Henry  nodded. 

"  Well,  that's  business  anyway,"  said  Mr.  Bry- 
any, taking  a  fresh  cigarette  and  lighting  it. 

"  It's  how  we  do  business  down  here,"  said  Ed- 
ward Henry,  quite  inaccurately;  for  it  was  not  in 
the  least  how  they  did  business  down  there. 

Mr.  Bryany  asked,  with  a  rather  obvious  anxiety: 

"  But  when  can  you  pay? 

"  Oh,  I'll  send  you  a  cheque  in  a  day  or  two." 
And  Edward  Henry  in  his  turn  took  a  fresh  cigar- 
ette. 

"That  won't  do!  That  won't  do!"  cried  Mr. 
Bryany.  "  I  absolutely  must  have  the  money  to- 
morrow morning  in  London.  I  can  sell  the  option 
in  London  for  eighty  pounds,  I  know  that." 

"You  must  have  it?  " 

"Must!" 

They  exchanged  glances.  And  Edward  Henry, 
rapidly  acquiring  new  knowledge  of  human  nature 
on  the  threshold  of  a  world  strange  to  him,  under- 
stood that  Mr.  Bryany,  with  his  private  sitting-room 
and  his  investments  in  Seattle  and  Calgary,  was  at 
his  wits'  end  for  a  bag  of  English  sovereigns,  and 
had  trusted  to  some  chance  encounter  to  save  him 
from  a  calamity.  And  his  contempt  for  Mr.  Bry- 
any was  that  of  a  man  to  whom  his  bankers  are 
positively  servile. 


66  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Here,"  Mr.  Bryany  almost  shouted,  "  don't 
light  your  cigarette  with  my  option !  " 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  Edward  Henry  apologised, 
dropping  the  document  which  he  had  creased  into  a 
spill.  There  were  no  matches  left  on  the  table. 

"  I'll  find  you  a  match." 

"  It's  of  no  consequence,"  said  Edward  Henry, 
feeling  in  his  pockets.  Having  discovered  therein 
a  piece  of  paper,  he  twisted  it  and  rose  to  put  it  to 
the  gas. 

"  Could  you  slip  round  to  your  bank  and  meet  me 
at  the  station  in  the  morning  with  the  cash?"  sug- 
gested Mr.  Bryany. 

"  No,  I  couldn't,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

"Well,  then,  what—?" 

"  Here,  you'd  better  take  this,"  the  Card,  reborn, 
soothed  his  host,  and,  blowing  out.  the  spill  which 
he  had  just  ignited  at  the  gas,  he  offered  it  to  Mr. 
Bryany. 

"What?" 

"This,  man!" 

Mr.  Bryany,  observing  the  peculiarity  of  the  spill, 
seized  it  and  unrolled  it,  not  without  a  certain  agita- 
tion. 

He  stammered: 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  it's  genuine?  " 

"  You'd  almost  think  so,  wouldn't  you?  "  said  Ed- 
ward Henry.  He  was  growing  fond  of  this  reply, 
and  of  the  enigmatic  playful  tone  that  he  had  in- 
vented for  it. 

"But—" 


THE  BANK-NOTE  67 

"  We  may,  as  you  say,  look  twice  at  a  fiver,"  con- 
tinued Edward  Henry,  "  but  we're  apt  to  be  care- 
less about  hundred-pound  notes  in  this  district.  I 
daresay  that's  why  I  always  carry  one." 

"But  it's  burnt!" 

"  Only  just  the  edge,  not  enough  to  harm  it.  If 
any  bank  in  England  refuses  it,  return  it  to  me,  and 
I'll  give  you  a  couple  more  in  exchange.  Is  that 
talking?" 

"Well,  I'm  dashed!"  Mr.  Bryany  attempted 
to  rise,  and  then  subsided  back  into  his  chair.  "  I 
am  simply  and  totally  dashed!  "  He  smiled  weak- 
ly, hysterically. 

And  in  that  instant  Edward  Henry  felt  all  the 
sweetness  of  a  complete  and  luscious  revenge. 

He  said  commandingly : 

"  You  must  sign  me  a  transfer.     I'll  dictate  it." 

Then  he  jumped  up. 

"You're  in  a  hurry?" 

"  I  am.  My  wife  is  expecting  me.  You 
promised  to  find  me  a  match."  Edward  Henry 
waved  the  unlit  cigarette  as  a  reproach  to  Mr.  Bry- 
any's  imperfect  hospitality. 

IV. 

The  clock  of  Bleakridge  Church,  still  imperturb- 
ably  shining  in  the  night,  showed  a  quarter  to  one 
when  he  saw  it  again  on  his  hurried  and  guilty  way 
home.  The  pavements  were  drying  in  the  fresh 
night  wind,  and  he  had  his  overcoat  buttoned  up  to 
the  neck.  He  was  absolutely  solitary  in  the  long, 


68  THE  OLD  ADAM 

muddy  perspective  of  Trafalgar  Road.  He  walked 
because  the  last  tram-car  was  already  housed  in  its 
shed  at  the  other  end  of  the  world,  and  he  walked 
quickly  because  his  conscience  drove  him  onwards. 
And  yet  he  dreaded  to  arrive,  lest  a  wound  in  the 
child's  leg  should  have  maliciously  decided  to  fester 
in  order  to  put  him  in  the  wrong.  He  was  now  as 
apprehensive  concerning  that  wound  as  Nellie  her- 
self had  been  at  tea-time. 

But  in  his  mind,  above  the  dark  gulf  of  anxiety, 
there  floated  brighter  thoughts.  Despite  his  fears 
and  his  remorse  as  a  father,  he  laughed  aloud  in 
the  deserted  street  when  he  remembered  Mr.  Bry- 
any's  visage  of  astonishment  upon  uncreasing  the 
note.  Indubitably,  he  made  a  terrific  and  everlast- 
ing impression  upon  Mr.  Bryany.  He  was  sending 
Mr.  Bryany  out  of  the  Five  Towns  a  different  man. 
He  had  taught  Mr.  Bryany  a  thing  or  two.  To 
what  brilliant  use  had  he  turned  the  purely  acci- 
dental possession  of  a  hundred-pound  note!  One 
of  his  finest  inspirations  —  an  inspiration  worthy  of 
the  great  days  of  his  youth!  Yes,  he  had  had  his 
hour  that  evening,  and  it  had  been  a  glorious  one. 
Also,  it  had  cost  him  a  hundred  pounds,  and  he  did 
not  care;  he  would  retire  to  bed  with  a  net  gain  of 
two  hundred  and  forty-one  pounds  instead  of  three 
hundred  and  forty-one  pounds,  that  was  all. 

For  he  did  not  mean  to  take  up  the  option.  The 
ecstasy  was  cooled  now,  and  he  saw  clearly  that 
London  and  theatrical  enterprises  therein  would  not 
be  suited  to  his  genius.  In  the  Five  Towns  he  was 


THE  BANK-NOTE  69 

on  his  own  ground;  he  was  a  figure;  he  was  sure  of 
himself.  In  London  he  would  be  a  provincial,  with 
the  diffidence  and  the  uncertainty  of  a  provincial. 
Nevertheless,  London  seemed  to  be  summoning  him 
from  afar  off,  and  he  dreamt  agreeably  of  London 
as  one  dreams  of  the  impossible  East. 

As  soon  as  he  opened  the  gate  in  the  wall  of  his 
property,  he  saw  that  the  drawing-room  was  illum- 
inated and  all  the  other  front  rooms  in  darkness. 
Either  his  wife  or  his  mother,  then,  was  sitting  up 
in  the  drawing-room.  He  inserted  a  cautious  latch- 
key into  the  door,  and  entered  the  silent  home  like 
a  sinner.  The  dim  light  in  the  hall  gravely 
reproached  him.  All  his  movements  were  mod- 
est and  restrained;  no  noisy  rattling  of  his  stick 
now. 

The  drawing-room  door  was  slightly  ajar.  He 
hesitated,  and  then,  nerving  himself,  pushed  against 
it. 

Nellie,  with  lowered  head,  was  seated  at  a  table, 
mending,  the  image  of  tranquillity  and  soft  resigna- 
tion. A  pile  of  children's  garments  lay  by  her  side, 
but  the  article  in  her  busy  hands  appeared  to  be  an 
undershirt  of  his  own.  None  but  she  ever  rein- 
forced the  buttons  on  his  linen.  Such  was  her  wife- 
ly rule,  and  he  considered  that  there  was  no  sense  in 
it.  She  was  working  by  the  light  of  a  single  lamp 
on  the  table,  the  splendid  chandelier  being  out  of 
action.  Her  economy  in  the  use  of  electricity  was 
incurable,  and  he  considered  that  there  was  no  sense 
in  that  either. 


70  THE  OLD  ADAM 

She  glanced  up  with  a  guarded  expression  that 
might  have  meant  anything. 

He  said: 

"  Aren't  you  trying  your  eyes?  " 

And  she  replied: 

"Oh,  no!" 

Then,  plunging,  he  came  to  the  point: 

"Well,  doctor  been  here?" 

She  nodded. 

"What  does  he  say?" 

"  It's  quite  all  right.  He  did  nothing  but  cover 
up  the  place  with  a  bit  of  cyanide  gauze." 

Instantly,  in  his  own  esteem,  he  regained  perfec- 
tion as  a  father.  Of  course  the  bite  was  nothing! 
Had  he  not  said  so  from  the  first?  Had  he  not  been 
quite  sure  throughout  that  the  bite  was  nothing? 

"  Then  why  did  you  sit  up?  "  he  asked,  and  there 
was  a  faint  righteous  challenge  in  his  tone. 

"  I  was  anxious  about  you.     I  was  afraid  — " 

"  Didn't  Stirling  tell  you  I  had  some  business?  " 

"I  forget—" 

M  I  told  him  to,  anyhow  —  important  business." 

"  It  must  have  been,"  said  Nellie  in  an  inscrutable 
voice. 

She  rose  and  gathered  together  her  paraphernalia, 
and  he  saw  that  she  was  wearing  the  damnable  white 
apron.  The  close  atmosphere  of  the  home  envel- 
oped and  stifled  him  once  more.  How  different  was 
this  exasperating  interior  from  the  large  jolly  free- 
dom of  the  Empire  Music  Hall,  and  from  the 


THE  BANK-NOTE  71 

whisky,  cigarettes,  and  masculinity  of  that  private 
room  at  the  Turk's  Head! 

"  It  was !  "  he  repeated  grimly  and  resentfully. 
'  Very  important!  And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing, 
I  shall  probably  have  to  go  to  London." 

He  said  this  just  to  startle  her. 

"  It  will  do  you  all  the  good  in  the  world,"  she 
replied  angelically,  but  unstartled.  "  It's  just  what 
you  need."  And  she  gazed  at  him  as  though  his 
welfare  and  felicity  were  her  sole  preoccupation. 

"  I  meant  I  might  have  to  stop  there  quite  a 
while,"  he  insisted. 

"  If  you  ask  me,"  she  said,  "  I  think  it  would  do 
us  all  good." 

So  saying  she  retired,  having  expressed  no  cu- 
riosity whatever  as  to  the  nature  of  the  very  im- 
portant business  in  London. 

For  a  moment,  left  alone,  he  was  at  a  loss.  Then, 
snorting,  he  went  to  the  table  and  extinguished  the 
lamp.  He  was  now  in  darkness.  The  light  in  the 
hall  showed  him  the  position  of  the  door. 

He  snorted  again.  "Oh,  very  well  then!"  he 
muttered.  "If  that's  it!  I'm  hanged  if  I  don't 
go  to  London!  I'm  hanged  if  I  don't  go  to  Lon- 
don!" 


CHAPTER  III 

WILKINS'S 
I. 

THE  early  adventures  of  Alderman  Machin 
of  Bursley  at  Wilkins'  Hotel,  London, 
were  so  singular  and  to  him  so  refreshing 
that  they  must  be  recounted  in  some  detail. 

He  went  to  London  by  the  morning  express  from 
Knype,  on  the  Monday  week  after  his  visit  to  the 
music-hall.  In  the  meantime  he  had  had  some 
correspondence  with  Mr.  Bryany,  more  poetic  than 
precise,  about  the  option,  and  had  informed  Mr. 
Bryany  that  he  would  arrive  in  London  several  days 
before  the  option  expired.  But  he  had  not  given  a 
definite  date.  The  whole  affair,  indeed,  was  amus- 
ingly vague;  and,  despite  his  assurances  to  his  wife 
that  the  matter  was  momentous,  he  did  not  regard 
his  trip  to  London  as  a  business  trip  at  all,  but  rather 
as  a  simple  freakish  change  of  air.  The  one  cer- 
tain item  in  the  whole  situation  was  that  he  had  in 
his  pocket  a  quite  considerable  sum  of  actual  money, 
destined  —  he  hoped  but  was  not  sure  —  to  take  up 
the  option  at  the  proper  hour. 

Nellie,  impeccable  to  the  last,  accompanied  him 
in  the  motor  to  Knype,  the  main-line  station.  The 
drive,  superficially  pleasant,  was  in  reality  very  dis- 

72 


WILKINS'S 


73 


concerting  to  him.  For  nine  days  the  household  had 
talked  in  apparent  cheerfulness  of  Father's  visit  to 
London,  as  though  it  were  an  occasion  for  joy  on 
Father's  behalf,  tempered  by  affectionate  sorrow  for 
his  absence.  The  official  theory  was  that  all  was  for 
the  best  in  the  best  of  all  possible  homes,  and  this 
theory  was  admirably  maintained.  And  yet  every- 
body knew  —  even  to  Maisie  —  that  it  was  not  so; 
everybody  knew  that  the  master  and  the  mistress  of 
the  home,  calm  and  sweet  as  was  their  demeanour, 
were  contending  in  a  terrific  silent  and  mysterious 
altercation,  which  in  some  way  was  connected  with 
the  visit  to  London.  So  far  as  Edward  Henry  was 
concerned,  he  had  been  hoping  for  some  decisive 
event  —  a  tone,  gesture,  glance,  pressure  —  during 
the  drive  to  Knype,  which  offered  the  last  chance  of 
a  real  concord.  No  such  event  occurred.  They 
conversed  with  the  same  false  cordiality  as  had 
marked  their  relations  since  the  evening  of  the  dog- 
bite.  On  that  evening  Nellie  had  suddenly  trans- 
formed herself  into  a  distressingly  perfect  angel, 
and  not  once  had  she  descended  from  her  high  es- 
tate. At  least  daily  she  had  kissed  him  —  what 
kisses!  Kisses  that  were  not  kisses!  Tasteless 
mockeries,  like  non-alcoholic  ale !  He  could  have 
killed  her,  but  he  could  not  put  a  finger  on  a  fault 
in  her  marvellous  wifely  behaviour;  she  would  have 
died  victorious. 

So  that  his  freakish  excursion  was  not  starting 
very  auspiciously.  And,  waiting  with  her  for  the 
train  on  the  platform  at  Knype,  he  felt  this  more 


74  THE  OLD  ADAM 

and  more.  His  old  clerk  Penkethman  was  there  to 
receive  certain  final  instructions  on  Thrift  Club  mat- 
ters, and  the  sweetness  of  Nellie's  attitude  towards 
the  ancient  man,  and  the  ancient's  man's  naive  pleas- 
ure therein,  positively  maddened  Edward  Henry. 
To  such  an  extent  that  he  began  to  think:  "  Is  she 
going  to  spoil  my  trip  for  me  ?  " 

Then  Brindley  came  up.  Brindley,  too,  was  go- 
ing to  London.  And  Nellie's  saccharine  assurances 
to  Brindley  that  Edward  Henry  really  needed  a 
change  just  about  completed  Edward  Henry's  des- 
peration. Not  even  the  uproarious  advent  of  two 
jolly  wholesale  grocers,  Messieurs  Garvin  and  Quor- 
rall,  also  going  to  London,  could  effectually  lighten 
his  pessimism. 

When  the  train  steamed  in,  Edward  Henry,  in 
fear,  postponed  the  ultimate  kiss  as  long  as  possi- 
ble. He  allowed  Brindley  to  climb  before  him  into 
the  second-class  compartment,  and  purposely  tarried 
in  finding  change  for  the  porter;  and  then  he  turned 
to  Nellie,  and  stooped.  She  raised  her  white  veil 
and  raised  the  angelic  face.  They  kissed, —  the 
same  false  kiss, —  and  she  was  withdrawing  her  lips. 
But  suddenly  she  put  them  again  to  his  for  one  sec- 
ond, with  a  hysterical  clinging  pressure.  It  was 
nothing.  Nobody  could  have  noticed  it.  She  her- 
self pretended  that  she  had  not  done  it.  Edward 
Henry  had  to  pretend  not  to  notice  it.  But  to  him 
it  was  everything.  She  had  relented.  She  had  sur- 
rendered. The  sign  had  come  from  her.  She 
wished  him  to  enjoy  his  visit  to  London. 


WILKINS'S  75 

He  said  to  himself: 

"  Dashed  if  I  don't  write  to  her  every  day!  " 

He  leaned  out  of  the  window  as  the  train  rolled 
away,  and  waved  and  smiled  to  her,  not  concealing 
his  sentiments  now;  nor  did  she  conceal  hers  as  she 
replied  with  exquisite  pantomime  to  his  signals. 
But  if  the  train  had  not  been  rapidly  and  infallibly 
separating  them,  the  reconciliation  could  scarcely 
have  been  thus  open.  If  for  some  reason  the  train 
had  backed  into  the  station  and  ejected  its  passen- 
gers, those  two  would  have  covered  up  their  feelings 
again  in  an  instant.  Such  is  human  nature  in  the 
Five  Towns. 

When  Edward  Henry  withdrew  his  head  into  the 
compartment,  Brindley  and  Mr.  Garvin,  the  latter 
standing  at  the  corridor  door,  observed  that  his 
spirits  had  shot  up  in  the  most  astonishing  manner, 
and  in  their  blindness  they  attributed  the  phenome- 
non to  Edward  Henry's  delight  in  a  temporary  free- 
dom from  domesticity. 

Mr.  Garvin  had  come  from  the  neighbouring  com- 
partment, which  was  first-class,  to  suggest  a  game 
at  bridge.  Messieurs  Garvin  and  Quorrall  jour- 
neyed to  London  once  a  week  and  sometimes 
oftener,  and,  being  traders,  they  had  special  season- 
tickets.  They  travelled  first-class  because  their 
special  season-tickets  were  first-class.  Brindley  said 
that  he  didn't  mind  a  game,  but  that  he  had  not  the 
slightest  intention  of  paying  excess  fare  for  the 
privilege.  Mr.  Garvin  told  him  to  come  along  and 
trust  in  Messieurs  Garvin  and  iQuorrall.  Edward 


76  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Henry,  not  nowadays  an  enthusiastic  card-player,  en- 
thusiastically agreed  to  join  the  hand,  and  announced 
that  he  did  not  care  if  he  paid  forty  excess  fares. 
Whereupon  Robert  Brindley  grumbled  enviously 
that  it  was  "  all  very  well  for  millionaires  .  .  ." 
They  followed  Mr.  Garvin  into  the  first-class  com- 
partment; and  it  soon  appeared  that  Messrs.  Gar- 
vin and  Quorrall  did  in  fact  own  the  train,  and  that 
the  London  and  North  Western  Railway  was  no 
more  than  their  wash-pot. 

"Bring  us  a  cushion  from  somewhere,  will  ye?" 
said  Mr.  Quorrall  casually  to  a  ticket-collector  who 
entered. 

And  the  resplendent  official  obeyed.  The  long 
cushion,  rapt  from  another  compartment,  was  placed 
on  the  knees  of  the  quartette,  and  the  game  began. 
The  ticket-collector  examined  the  tickets  of  Brind- 
ley and  Edward  Henry,  and  somehow  failed  to 
notice  that  they  were  of  the  wrong  colour.  And 
at  this  proof  of  their  influential  greatness,  Mes- 
sieurs Garvin  and  Quorrall  were  both  secretly 
proud. 

The  last  rubber  finished  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Willesden,  and  Edward  Henry,  having  won  eight- 
een pence  halfpenny,  was  exuberantly  content,  for 
Messrs.  Garvin,  Quorrall,  and  Brindley  were  all 
renowned  card-players.  The  cushion  was  thrown 
away,  and  a  fitful  conversation  occupied  the  few 
remaining  minutes  of  the  journey. 

"Where  do  you  put  up?"  Brindley  asked  Ed- 
ward Henry. 


WILKINS'S  77 

"  Majestic,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  Where  do 
you?" 

"Oh!  Kingsway,  I  suppose." 

The  Majestic  and  the  Kingsway  were  two  of  the 
half-dozen  very  large  and  very  mediocre  hotels  in 
London  which,  from  causes  which  nobody,  and  es- 
pecially no  American,  has  ever  been  able  to  discover, 
are  particularly  affected  by  Midland  provincials  "  on 
the  jaunt."  Both  had  an  immense  reputation  in 
the  Five  Towns. 

There  was  nothing  new  to  say  about  the  Ma- 
jestic and  the  Kingsway,  and  the  talk  flagged  until 
Mr.  'Quorrall  mentioned  Seven  Sachs.  The  mighty 
Seven  Sachs,  in  his  world-famous  play,  "  Overheard," 
had  taken  precedence  of  all  other  topics  in  the  Five 
Towns  during  the  previous  week.  He  had 
crammed  the  theatre  and  half  emptied  the  Empire 
Music  Hall  for  six  nights;  a  wonderful  feat.  In- 
cidentally, his  fifteen  hundredth  appearance  in 
"  Overheard  "  had  taken  place  in  the  Five  Towns, 
and  the  Five  Towns  had  found  in  this  fact  a  peculiar 
satisfaction,  as  though  some  deep  merit  had  thereby 
been  acquired  or  rewarded.  Seven  Sachs's  tour  was 
now  closed,  and  on  the  Sunday  he  had  gone  to  Lon- 
don, en  route  for  America. 

"  I  heard  he  stops  at  Wilkins's,"  said  Mr.  Garvin. 

"Wilkins's  your  grandmother  1 "  Brindley  es- 
sayed to  crush  Mr.  Garvin. 

"  I  don't  say  he  does  stop  at  Wilkins's,"  said  Mr. 
Garvin,  an  individual  not  easy  to  crush,  "  I  only  say 
I  heard  as  he  did." 


78  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  They  wouldn't  have  him  I  "  Brindley  insisted 
firmly. 

Mr.  Quorrall  at  any  rate  seemed  tacitly  to  agree 
with  Brindley.  The  august  name  of  Wilkins's  was 
in  its  essence  so  exclusive  that  vast  numbers  of  fairly 
canny  provincials  had  never  heard  of  it.  Ask  ten 
well-informed  provincials  which  is  the  first  hotel  in 
London,  and  nine  of  them  would  certainly  reply, 
the  Grand  Babylon.  Not  that  even  wealthy  pro- 
vincials from  the  industrial  districts  are  in  the  habit 
of  staying  at  the  Grand  Babylon !  No !  Edward 
Henry,  for  example,  had  never  stayed  at  the  Grand 
Babylon,  no  more  than  he  had  ever  bought  a  first- 
class  ticket  on  a  railroad.  The  idea  of  doing  so 
had  scarcely  occurred  to  him.  There  are  certain 
ways  of  extravagant  smartness  which  are  not  con- 
sidered to  be  good  form  among  solid  wealthy  pro- 
vincials. Why  travel  first-class  (they  argue),  when 
second  is  just  as  good  and  no  one  can  tell  the  dif- 
ference once  you  get  out  of  the  train?  Why  ape 
the  tricks  of  another  stratum  of  society?  They  like 
to  read  about  the  dinner-parties  and  supper-parties 
at  the  Grand  Babylon;  but  they  are  not  emulous,  and 
they  do  not  imitate.  At  their  most  adventurous  they 
would  lunch  or  dine  in  the  neutral  region  of  the 
grill-room  at  the  Grand  Babylon.  As  for  Wilkins's, 
in  Devonshire  Square,  which  is  infinitely  better 
known  among  princes  than  in  the  Five  Towns,  and 
whose  name  is  affectionately  pronounced  with  a 
"  V '"  by  half  the  monarchs  of  Europe,  few  in- 


WILKINS'S  79 

dustrial  provincials  had  ever  seen  it.  The  class 
which  is  the  back-bone  of  England  left  it  serenely 
alone  to  royalty  and  the  aristocratic  parasites  of 
royalty. 

"  I  don't  see  why  they  shouldn't  have  him,"  said 
Edward  Henry,  as  he  lifted  a  challenging  nose  in 
the  air. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't,  Alderman !  "  said  Brindley. 

"  /  wouldn't  mind  going  to  Wilkins's,"  Edward 
Henry  persisted. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  you,"  said  Brindley,  with  curt 
scorn. 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  I'll  bet  you  a 
fiver  I  do."  Had  he  not  won  eighteen  pence  half- 
penny? And  was  he  not  securely  at  peace  with  his 
wife? 

"  I  don't  bet  fivers,"  said  the  cautious  Brindley. 
"  But  I'll  bet  you  half  a  crown." 

"  Done!  "  said  Edward  Henry. 

"When  will  you  go?" 

"  Either  to-day  or  to-morrow.  I  must  go  to  the 
Majestic  first,  because  I've  ordered  a  room  and  so 
on." 

"Ha!"  hurled  Brindley,  as  if  to  insinuate  that 
Edward  Henry  was  seeking  to  escape  from  the  con- 
sequences of  his  boast. 

And  yet  he  ought  to  have  known  Edward  Henry. 
He  did  know  Edward  Henry.  And  he  hoped  to 
lose  his  half-crown.  On  his  face  and  on  the  faces 
of  the  other  two  was  the  cheerful  admission  that 


8o  THE  OLD  ADAM 

tales  of  the  doings  of  Alderman  Machin,  the  great 
local  card,   at  Wilkins's  —  if  he  succeeded  in  get- 
ting in  —  would  be  cheap  at  half  a  crown. 
Porters  cried  out  "  Euston!  " 

II. 

It  was  rather  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Edward 
Henry  arrived  in  front  of  the  facade  of  Wilkins's. 
He  came  in  a  taxicab,  and  though  the  distance  from 
the  Majestic  to  Wilkins's  is  not  more  than  a  couple 
of  miles,  and  he  had  had  nothing  else  to  preoccupy 
him  after  lunch,  he  had  spent  some  three  hours  in 
the  business  of  transferring  himself  from  the  portals 
of  the  one  hotel  to  the  portals  of  the  other.  Two 
hours  and  three-quarters  of  this  period  of  time  had 
been  passed  in  finding  courage  merely  to  start. 
Even  so,  he  had  left  his  luggage  behind  him.  He 
said  to  himself  that,  first  of  all,  he  would  go  and  spy 
out  Wilkins's;  in  the  perilous  work  of  scouting  he 
rightly  wished  to  be  unhampered  by  impedimenta; 
moreover,  in  case  of  repulse  or  accident,  he  must  have 
a  base  of  operations  upon  which  he  could  retreat 
in  good  order. 

He  now  looked  on  Wilkins's  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life;  and  he  was  even  more  afraid  of  it  than  he 
had  been  while  thinking  about  it  in  the  vestibule  of 
the  Majestic.  It  was  not  larger  than  the  Majestic; 
it  was  perhaps  smaller;  it  could  not  show  more 
terra  cotta,  plate  glass,  and  sculptured  cornice  than 
the  Majestic.  But  it  had  a  demeanour  .  .  .  and 
it  was  in  a  square  which  had  a  demeanour.  .  .  . 


WILKINS'S  8 1 

In  every  window-sill  —  not  only  of  the  hotel,  but  of 
nearly  every  mighty  house  in  the  square  —  there 
were  boxes  of  bright-blooming  flowers.  These  he 
could  plainly  distinguish  in  the  October  dusk,  and 
they  were  a  wonderful  phenomenon  —  say  what  you 
will  about  the  mildness  of  that  particular  October! 
A  sublime  tranquillity  reigned  over  the  scene.  A 
liveried  keeper  was  locking  the  gate  of  the  garden 
in  the  middle  of  the  square  as  if  potentates  had  just 
quitted  it  and  rendered  it  forever  sacred.  And  be- 
tween the  sacred  shadowed  grove  and  the  inscrutable 
fronts  of  the  stately  houses,  there  flitted  automobiles 
of  the  silent  and  expensive  kind,  driven  by  chauffeurs 
in  pale  grey  or  dark  purple,  who  reclined  as  they 
steered,  and  who  were  supported  on  their  left  sides 
by  footmen  who  reclined  as  they  contemplated  the 
grandeur  of  existence. 

Edward  Henry's  taxicab  in  that  square  seemed 
like  a  homeless  cat  that  had  strayed  into  a  dog-show. 

At  the  exact  instant  when  the  taxicab  came  to  rest 
under  the  massive  portico  of  Wilkins's,  a  chamber- 
lain in  white  gloves  bravely  soiled  the  gloves  by 
seizing  the  vile  brass  handle  of  its  door.  He  bowed 
to  Edward  Henry,  and  assisted  him  to  alight  on  to 
a  crimson  carpet.  The  driver  of  the  taxi  glanced 
with  pert  and  candid  scorn  at  the  chamberlain,  but 
Edward  Henry  looked  demurely  aside,  and  then  in 
abstraction  mounted  the  broad  carpeted  steps. 

"What  about  poor  little  me?"  cried  the  driver, 
who  was  evidently  a  ribald  socialist,  or  at  best  a 
republican. 


82  THE  OLD  ADAM 

The  chamberlain,  pained,  glanced  at  Edward 
Henry  for  support  and  direction  in  this  crisis. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  I'd  keep  you?  "  said  Edward 
Henry,  raised  now  by  the  steps  above  the  driver. 

"  Between  you  and  me,  you  didn't,"  said  the 
driver. 

The  chamberlain,  with  an  ineffable  gesture,  wafted 
the  taxicab  away  into  some  limbo  appointed  for  wait- 
ing vehicles. 

A  page  opened  a  pair  of  doors,  and  another  page 
opened  another  pair  of  doors,  each  with  eighteen- 
century  ceremonies  of  deference,  and  Edward 
Henry  stood  at  length  in  the  hall  of  Wilkins's. 
The  sanctuary,  then,  was  successfully  defiled,  and  up 
to  the  present  nobody  had  demanded  his  credentials ! 
He  took  breath. 

In  its  physical  aspects  Wilkins's  appeared  to  him 
to  resemble  other  hotels  —  such  as  the  Majestic. 
And  so  far  he  was  not  mistaken.  Once  Wilkins's 
had  not  resembled  other  hotels.  For  many  years 
it  had  deliberately  refused  to  recognise  that  even  the 
Nineteenth  Century  had  dawned,  and  its  magnificent 
antique  discomfort  had  been  one  of  its  main  at- 
tractions to  the  elect.  For  the  elect  desired  noth- 
ing but  their  own  privileged  society  in  order  to  be 
happy  in  a  hotel.  A  hip  bath  on  a  blanket  in  the 
middle  of  the  bedroom  floor  richly  sufficed  them, 
provided  they  could  be  guaranteed  against  the  ca- 
lamity of  meeting  the  unelect  in  the  corridors  or  at 
table  d'hote.  But  the  rising  waters  of  democracy 
—  the  intermixture  of  classes  —  had  reacted  ad- 


WILKINS'S  83 

versely  on  Wilkins's.  The  fall  of  the  Emperor 
Maximilian  of  Mexico  had  given  Wilkins's  sad  food 
for  thought  long,  long  ago,  and  the  obvious  general 
weakening  of  the  monarchical  principle  had  most 
considerably  shaken  it.  Came  the  day  when  Wil- 
kins's reluctantly  decided  that  even  it  could  not  fight 
against  the  tendency  of  the  whole  world,  and  then, 
at  one  superb  stroke,  it  had  rebuilt  and  brought  it- 
self utterly  up-to-date. 

Thus  it  resembled  other  hotels.  (Save  possibly 
in  the  reticence  of  its  advertisements!  The  Ma- 
jestic would  advertise  bathrooms  as  a  miracle  of 
modernity,  just  as  though  common  dwelling-houses 
had  not  possessed  bathrooms  for  the  past  thirty 
years.  Wilkins's  had  superlative  bathrooms,  but  it 
said  nothing  about  them.  Wilkins's  would  as  soon 
have  advertised  two  hundred  bathrooms  as  two  hun- 
dred bolsters ;  and  for  the  new  Wilkins's  a  bathroom 
was  not  more  modern  than  a  bolster.)  Also,  other 
hotels  resembled  Wilkins's.  The  Majestic,  too,  had 
a  chamberlain  at  its  portico,  and  an  assortment  of 
pages  to  prove  to  its  clients  that  they  were  incapable 
of  performing  the  simplest  act  for  themselves. 
Nevertheless,  the  difference  between  Wilkins's  and 
the  Majestic  was  enormous;  and  yet  so  subtle  was 
it  that  Edward  Henry  could  not  immediately  detect 
where  it  resided.  Then  he  understood.  The  dif- 
ference between  Wilkins's  and  the  Majestic  resided 
in  the  theory  which  underlay  its  manner.  And  the 
theory  was  that  every  person  entering  its  walls  was 
of  royal  blood  until  he  had  admitted  the  contrary. 


84  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Within  the  hotel  it  was  already  night. 

Edward  Henry  self-consciously  crossed  the  il- 
luminated hall,  which  was  dotted  with  fashionable 
figures.  He  knew  not  whither  he  was  going,  until 
by  chance  he  saw  a  golden  grille  with  the  word 
**  Reception  "  shining  over  it  in  letters  of  gold.  Be- 
hind this  grille,  and  still  further  protected  by  an 
impregnable  mahogany  counter,  stood  three  young 
dandies  in  attitudes  of  graceful  ease.  He  ap- 
proached them.  The  fearful  moment  was  upon  him. 
He  had  never  in  his  life  been  so  genuinely  fright- 
ened. Abject  disgrace  might  be  his  portion  within 
the  next  ten  seconds. 

Addressing  himself  to  the  dandy  in  the  middle,  he 
managed  to  articulate: 

'  What  have  you  got  in  the  way  of  rooms?  " 

Could  the  Five  Towns  have  seen  him  then,  as  he 
waited,  it  would  hardly  have  recognised  its  "  card," 
its  character,  its  mirror  of  aplomb  and  inventive  au- 
dacity, in  this  figure  of  provincial  and  plebeian  diffi- 
dence. 

The  dandy  bowed. 

"  Do  you  want  a  suite,  sir?  " 

"Certainly!"  said  Edward  Henry.  Rather  too 
quickly,  rather  too  defiantly;  in  fact,  rather  rudely! 
A  habitue  would  not  have  so  savagely  hurled  back 
in  the  dandy's  teeth  the  insinuation  that  he  wanted 
only  one  paltry  room. 

However,  the  dandy  smiled,  accepting  with  meek- 
ness Edward  Henry's  sudden  arrogance,  and  con- 


WILKINS'S  85 

suited  a  sort  of  pentateuch  that  was  open  in  front 
of  him. 

No  person  in  the  hall  saw  Edward  Henry's  hat 
fly  up  into  the  air  and  fall  back  on  his  head.  But 
in  the  imagination  of  Edward  Henry,  that  was  what 
his  hat  did. 

He  was  saved.  He  would  have  a  proud  tale  for 
Brindley.  The  thing  was  as  simple  as  the  alphabet. 
You  just  walked  in  and  they  either  fell  on  your  neck 
or  kissed  your  feet. 

Wilkins's  indeed! 

A  very  handsome  footman,  not  only  in  white 
gloves  but  in  white  calves,  was  soon  supplicating  him 
to  deign  to  enter  a  lift.  And  when  he  emerged 
from  the  lift  another  dandy — in  a  frock-coat  of 
Paradise  —  was  awaiting  him  with  obeisances.  Ap- 
parently it  had  not  yet  occurred  to  anybody  that  he 
was  not  the  younger  son  of  some  aged  king. 

He  was  prayed  to  walk  into  a  gorgeous  suite 
consisting  of  a  corridor,  a  noble  drawing-room 
(with  portrait  of  His  Majesty  of  Spain  on  the 
walls),  a  large  bedroom  with  two  satinwood  beds, 
a  small  bedroom,  and  a  bathroom,  all  gleaming  with 
patent  devices  in  porcelain  and  silver  that  fully 
equalled  those  at  home. 

Asked  if  this  suite  would  do,  he  said  it  would,  try- 
ing as  well  as  he  could  to  imply  that  he  had  seen 
better.  Then  the  dandy  produced  a  note-book  and 
a  pencil,  and  impassively  waited.  The  horrid  fact 
that  he  was  un-elect  could  no  longer  be  concealed. 


86  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  E.  H.  Machin,  Bursley,"  he  said  shortly,  and 
added:  "Alderman  Machin."  After  all,  why 
should  he  be  ashamed  of  being  an  alderman? 

To  his  astonishment  the  dandy  smiled  very 
cordially,  though  always  with  profound  respect. 

"  Ah,  yes!  "  said  the  dandy.  It  was  as  though  he 
had  said:  "We  have  long  wished  for  the  high 
patronage  of  this  great  reputation."  Edward 
Henry  could  make  naught  of  it. 

His  opinion  of  Wilkins's  went  down. 

He  followed  the  departing  dandy  up  the  corridor 
to  the  door  of  the  suite  in  an  entirely  vain  attempt 
to  enquire  the  price  of  the  suite  per  day.  Not  a 
syllable  would  pass  his  lips.  The  dandy  bowed  and 
vanished.  Edward  Henry  stood  lost  at  his  ow.n 
door,  and  his  wandering  eye  caught  sight  of  a  pile 
of  trunks  near  to  another  door  in  the  main  corridor. 
These  trunks  gave  him  a  terrible  shock.  He  shut 
out  the  rest  of  the  hotel  and  retired  into  his  private 
corridor  to  reflect.  He  perceived  only  too  plainly 
that  his  luggage,  now  at  the  Majestic,  never  could 
come  into  Wilkins's.  It  was  not  fashionable 
enough.  It  lacked  elegance.  The  lounge  suit  that 
he  was  wearing  might  serve,  but  his  luggage  was 
totally  impossible.  Never  before  had  he  imagined 
that  the  aspect  of  one's  luggage  could  have  the  least 
importance  in  one's  scheme  of  existence.  He  was 
learning,  and  he  frankly  admitted  that  he  was  in  an 
incomparable  mess. 


WILKINS'S  87 


in. 


At  the  end  of  an  extensive  stroll  through  and 
round  his  new  vast  domain,  he  had  come  to  no  de- 
cision upon  a  course  of  action.  Certain  details  of 
the  strange  adventure  pleased  him  —  as  for  instance 
the  dandy's  welcoming  recognition  of  his  name ;  that, 
though  puzzling,  was  a  source  oikcomfort  to  him 
in  his  difficulties.  He  also  liked  the  suite;  nay  more, 
he  was  much  impressed  by  its  gorgeousness,  and 
such  novel  complications  as  the  forked  electric 
switches,  all  of  which  he  turned  on,  and  the  double 
windows,  one  within  the  other,  appealed  to  the  do- 
mestic expert  in  him;  indeed,  he  at  once  had  the 
idea  of  doubling  the  window  of  the  best  bedroom 
at  home;  to  do  so  would  be  a  fierce  blow  to  the 
Five  Towns  Electric  Traction  Company,  which,  as 
everybody  knew,  delighted  to  keep  everybody  awake 
at  night  and  at  dawn  by  means  of  its  late  and  its 
early  tram-cars.  However,  he  could  not  wander  up 
and  down  the  glittering  solitude  of  his  extensive  suite 
for  ever.  Something  must  be  done.  Then  he  had 
the  notion  of  writing  to  Nellie;  he  had  promised 
himself  to  write  to  her  daily;  moreover,  it  would 
pass  the  time  and  perhaps  help  him  to  some  reso- 
lution. 

He  sat  down  to  a  delicate  Louis  XVI  desk  on 
which  lay  a  Bible,  a  Peerage,  a  telephone-book,  a 
telephone,  a  lamp,  and  much  distinguished  stationery. 
Between  the  tasselled  folds  of  plushy  curtains  that 


88  THE  OLD  ADAM 

pleated  themselves  with  the  grandeur  of  painted  cur- 
tains in  a  theatre,  he  glanced  out  at  the  lights  of 
Devonshire  Square,  from  which  not  a  sound  came. 
Then  he  lit  the  lamp  and  unscrewed  his  fountain 
pen. 

"  My  dear  wife  — " 

That  was  how  he  always  began,  whether  in  storm 
or  sunshine.  Nellie  always  began,  "  My  darling 
husband  " ;  but  he  was  not  a  man  to  fling  darlings 
about.  Few  husbands  in  the  Five  Towns  are.  He 
thought  "  darling,"  but  he  never  wrote  it,  and  he 
never  said  it,  save  quizzingly. 

After  these  three  words  the  composition  of  the 
letter  came  to  a  pause.  What  was  he  going  to  tell 
Nellie?  He  assuredly  was  not  going  to  tell  her  that 
he  had  engaged  an  unpriced  suite  at  Wilkins's.  He 
was  not  going  to  mention  Wilkins's.  Then  he  in- 
telligently perceived  that  the  note-paper  and  also 
the  envelope  mentioned  Wilkins's  in  no  ambiguous 
manner.  He  tore  up  the  sheet  and  searched  for 
plain  paper.  Now,  on  the  desk  there  was  the  or- 
dinary hotel  stationery,  mourning  stationery,  cards, 
letter-cards,  and  envelopes  for  every  mood;  but  not 
a  piece  that  was  not  embossed  with  the  historic  name 
in  royal  blue.  The  which  appeared  to  Edward 
Henry  to  point  to  a  defect  of  foresight  on  the  part 
of  Wilkins's.  At  the  gigantic  political  club  to 
which  he  belonged,  and  which  he  had  occasionally 
visited  in  order  to  demonstrate  to  himself  and 
others  that  he  was  a  club-man,  plain  stationery 
was  everywhere  provided  for  the  use  of  husbands 


WILKINS'S  89 

with  a  taste  for  reticence.  Why  not  at  Wilkins's 
also? 

On  the  other  hand,  why  should  he  not  write  to 
his  wife  on  Wilkins's  paper?  Was  he  afraid  of  his 
wife  ?  He  was  not.  Would  not  the  news  ultimately 
reach  Bursley  that  he  had  stayed  at  Wilkins's?  It 
would.  Nevertheless,  he  could  not  find  the  courage 
to  write  to  Nellie  on  Wilkins's  paper. 

He  looked  around.  He  was  fearfully  alone. 
He  wanted  the  companionship,  were  it  only  mo- 
mentary, of  something  human.  He  decided  to  have 
a  look  at  a  flunkey,  and  he  rang  a  bell. 

Immediately,  just  as  though  wafted  thither  on  a 
magic  carpet,  from  the  court  of  Austria,  a  gentle- 
man in  waiting  arrived  in  the  doorway  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, planted  himself  gracefully  on  his  black 
silk  calves,  and  bowed. 

"  I  want  some  plain  note-paper,  please." 

4  Very  good,  sir."  Ohl  Perfection  of  tone  and 
of  mien! 

Three  minutes  later  the  plain  note-paper  and  en- 
velopes were  being  presented  to  Edward  Henry  on 
a  salver.  As  he  took  them,  he  looked  enquiringly 
at  the  gentleman  in  waiting,  who  supported  his  gaze 
with  an  impenetrable,  invulnerable  servility.  Ed- 
ward Henry,  beaten  off  with  great  loss,  thought: 
"  There's  nothing  doing  here  just  now  in  the  human 
companionship  line,"  and  assumed  the  mask  of  a 
hereditary  prince. 

The  black  calves  carried  away  their  immaculate 
living  burden,  set  above  all  earthly  ties. 


90  THE  OLD  ADAM 

He  wrote  nicely  to  Nellie  about  the  weather  and 
the  journey,  and  informed  her  also  that  London 
seemed  as  full  as  ever,  and  that  he  might  go  to  the 
theatre,  but  he  wasn't  sure.  He  dated  the  letter 
from  the  Majestic. 

As  he  was  finishing  it,  he  heard  mysterious,  dis- 
turbing footfalls  in  his  private  corridor,  and  after 
trying  for  some  time  to  ignore  them,  he  was  forced 
by  a  vague  alarm  to  investigate  their  origin.  A 
short  middle-aged,  pallid  man,  with  a  long  nose  and 
long  moustaches,  wearing  a  red  and  black-striped 
sleeved  waistcoat  and  a  white  apron,  was  in  the 
corridor.  At  the  Turk's  Head  such  a  person  would 
have  been  the  boots.  But  Edward  Henry  remem- 
bered a  notice  under  the  bell,  advising  visitors  to 
ring  once  for  the  waiter,  twice  for  the  chamber- 
maid, and  three  times  for  the  valet.  This,  then, 
was  the  valet.  In  certain  picturesque  details  of  cos- 
tume Wilkins's  was  coquettishly  French. 

"What  is  it?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  came  to  see  if  your  luggage  had  arrived,  sir. 
No  doubt  your  servant  is  bringing  it.  Can  I  be  of 
any  assistance  to  you?  " 

The  man  thoughtfully  twirled  one  end  of  his 
moustache.  It  was  an  appalling  fault  in  demeanour; 
but  the  man  was  proud  of  his  moustache. 

"  The  first  human  being  I've  met  here !  "  thought 
Edward  Henry,  attracted  too  by  a  gleam  in  the  eye 
of  this  eternal  haunter  of  corridors. 

"His  servant!"  He  saw  that  something  must 
be  done,  and  quickly.  Wilkins's  provided  valets 


WILKINS'S  91 

for  emergencies,  but  obviously  it  expected  visitors 
to  bring  their  own  valets  in  addition.  Obviously 
existence  without  a  private  valet  was  inconceivable 
to  Wilkins's. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  I'm  in  a 
very  awkward  situation."  He  hesitated,  seeking  to 
and  fro  in  his  mind  for  particulars  of  the  situation. 

"  Sorry  to  hear  that,  sir." 

"  Yes,  a  very  awkward  position."  He  hesitated 
again.  "  I'd  booked  passages  for  myself  and  my 
valet  on  the  Minnetonka,  sailing  from  Tilbury  at 
noon  to-day,  and  sent  him  on  in  front  with  my  stuff, 
and  at  the  very  last  moment  I've  been  absolutely 
prevented  from  sailing!  You  see  how  awkward  it 
is !  I  haven't  a  thing  here." 

"It  is  indeed,  sir!  And  I  suppose  he's  gone  on, 
sir?" 

"  Of  course  he  has !  He  wouldn't  find  out  till 
after  she  sailed  that  I  wasn't  on  board.  You  know 
the  crush  and  confusion  there  is  on  those  big  liners 
just  before  they  start."  Edward  Henry  had  once 
assisted,  under  very  dramatic  circumstances,  at  the 
departure  of  a  transatlantic  liner  from  Liverpool. 

"Just  so,  sir!  " 

"  I've  neither  servant  nor  clothes  1  "  He  consid- 
ered that  so  far  he  was  doing  admirably.  Indeed, 
the  tale  could  not  have  been  bettered,  he  thought. 
His  hope  was  that  the  fellow  would  not  have  the 
idea  of  consulting  the  shipping  intelligence  in  order 
to  confirm  the  departure  of  the  Minnetonka  from 
Tilbury  that  day.  Possibly  the  Minnetonka  never 


92  THE  OLD  ADAM 

had  sailed  and  never  would  sail  from  Tilbury. 
Possibly  she  had  been  sold  years  ago.  He  had  se- 
lected the  first  ship's  name  that  came  into  his  head. 
What  did  it  matter? 

"  My  man,"  he  added  to  clinch  —  the  proper  word 
tk  man  "  had  only  just  occurred  to  him — "  my  man 
can't  be  back  again  under  three  weeks  at  the 
soonest." 

The  valet  made  one  half-eager  step  towards  him. 

"  If  you're  wanting  a  temporary  valet,  sir,  my 
son's  out  of  a  place  for  the  moment  —  through  no 
fault  of  his  own.  He's  a  very  good  valet,  sir,  and 
soon  learns  a  gentleman's  ways." 

"  Yes,"  said  Edward  Henry  judiciously.  "  But 
could  he  come  at  once?  That's  the  point."  And 
he  looked  at  his  watch,  as  if  to  imply  that  another 
hour  without  a  valet  would  be  more  than  human 
nature  could  stand. 

"  I  could  have  him  round  here  in  less  than  an 
hour,  sir,"  said  the  hotel  valet,  comprehending  the 
gesture.  "  He's  at  Norwich  Mews  —  Berkeley 
Square  way,  sir." 

Edward  Henry  hesitated. 

"  Very  well,  then ! "  he  said  commandingly. 
"  Send  for  him.  Let  me  see  him." 

He  thought: 

"Dash  it!  I'm  at  Wilkins's  —  I'll  be  at  Wil- 
kins's!" 

"  Certainly,  sir !     Thank  you  very  much,  sir." 

The  hotel  valet  was  retiring  when  Edward  Henry 
called  him  back. 


WILKINS'S  93 

"  Stop  a  moment.  I'm  just  going  out.  Help  me 
on  with  my  overcoat,  will  you?" 

The  man  jumped. 

"  And  you  might  get  me  a  tooth-brush,"  Edward 
Henry  airily  suggested.  "  And  I've  a  letter  for  the 
post." 

As  he  walked  down  Devonshire  Square  in  the 
dark,  he  hummed  a  tune:  certain  sign  that  he  was 
self-conscious,  uneasy,  and  yet  not  unhappy.  At  a 
small  but  expensive  hosier's  in  a  side  street  he  bought 
a  shirt  and  a  suit  of  pajamas,  and  also  permitted  him- 
self to  be  tempted  by  a  special  job  line  of  hair- 
brushes that  the  hosier  had  in  his  fancy  department. 
On  hearing  the  powerful  word  "  Wilkins's,"  the 
hosier  promised  with  passionate  obsequiousness  that 
the  goods  should  be  delivered  instantly. 

Edward  Henry  cooled  his  excitement  by  an  ex- 
tended stroll,  and  finally  re-entered  the  outer  hall  of 
the  hotel  at  half-past  seven,  and  sat  down  therein 
to  see  the  world.  He  knew  by  instinct  that  the 
boldest  lounge  suit  must  not  at  that  hour  penetrate 
further  into  the  public  rooms  of  Wilkins's. 

The  world  at  its  haughtiest  was  driving  up  to 
Wilkins's  to  eat  its  dinner  in  the  unrivalled  res- 
taurant, and  often  guests  staying  at  the  hotel  came 
into  the  outer  hall  to  greet  invited  friends.  And 
Edward  Henry  was  so  overfaced  by  visions  of 
woman's  brilliance  and  man's  utter  correctness  that 
he  scarcely  knew  where  to  look  —  so  apologetic  was 
he  for  his  grey  lounge  suit  and  the  creases  in  his 
boots.  In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  ap- 


94  THE  OLD  ADAM 

predated  with  painful  clearness  that  his  entire  con- 
ception of  existence  had  been  wrong,  and  that  he 
must  begin  again  at  the  beginning.  Nothing  in  his 
luggage  at  the  Majestic  would  do.  His  socks 
would  not  do,  nor  his  shoes,  nor  the  braid  on  his 
trousers,  nor  his  cuff-links,  nor  his  ready-made  white 
bow,  nor  the  number  of  studs  in  the  shirt-front,  nor 
the  collar  of  his  coat.  Nothing!  Nothing  I  To- 
morrow would  be  a  full  day. 

He  ventured  apologetically  into  the  lift.  In  his 
private  corridor  a  young  man  respectfully  waited, 
hat  in  hand,  the  paternal  red-and-black  waistcoat  by 
his  side  for  purposes  of  introduction.  The  young 
man  was  wearing  a  rather  shabby  blue  suit,  but  a 
rich  and  distinguished  overcoat  that  fitted  him  ill. 
In  another  five  minutes  Edward  Henry  had  en- 
gaged a  skilled  valet,  aged  twenty-four,  name  Joseph, 
with  a  testimonial  of  efficiency  from  Sir  Nicholas 
Winkworth,  Bart.,  at  a  salary  of  a  pound  a  week  and 
all  found. 

Joseph  seemed  to  await  instructions.  And  Ed- 
ward Henry  was  placed  in  a  new  quandary.  He 
knew  not  whether  the  small  bedroom  in  the  suite 
was  for  a  child,  or  for  his  wife's  maid,  or  for  his 
valet.  Quite  probably  it  would  be  a  sacrilegious  de- 
fiance of  precedent  to  put  a  valet  in  the  small  bed- 
room. Quite  probably  Wilkins's  had  a  floor  for 
private  valets  in  the  roof.  Again,  quite  probably, 
the  small  bedroom  might  be  after  all  specially 
destined  for  valets!  He  could  not  decide,  and  the 
most  precious  thing  in  the  universe  to  him  in  that 


WILKINS'S  95 

crisis  was  his  reputation  as  a  man  about  town  in  the 
eyes  of  Joseph. 

But  something  had  to  be  done. 

"  You'll  sleep  in  this  room,"  said  Edward  Henry, 
indicating  the  door.  "  I  may  want  you  in  the 
night." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Joseph. 

"  I  presume  you'll  dine  up  here,  sir,"  said  Joseph, 
glancing  at  the  lounge  suit.  His  father  had  in- 
formed him  of  his  new  master's  predicament. 

"  I  shall,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  You  might  get 
the  menu." 

IV. 

He  had  a  very  bad  night  indeed,  owing  no  doubt 
partly  to  a  general  uneasiness  in  his  unusual  sur- 
roundings, and  partly  also  to  a  special  uneasiness 
caused  by  the  propinquity  of  a  sleeping  valet;  but 
the  main  origin  of  it  was  certainly  his  dreadful  anx- 
iety about  the  question  of  a  first-class  tailor.  In  the 
organisation  of  his  new  life  a  first-class  tailor  was 
essential,  and  he  was  not  acquainted  with  a  first-class 
London  tailor.  He  did  not  know  a  great  deal  con- 
cerning clothes,  though  quite  passably  well  dressed 
for  a  provincial,  but  he  knew  enough  to  be  sure  that 
it  was  impossible  to  judge  the  merits  of  a  tailor  by 
his  sign-board,  and  therefore  that  if,  wandering  in 
the  precincts  of  Bond  Street,  he  entered  the  first  es- 
tablishment that  "  looked  likely,"  he  would  have  a 
good  chance  of  being  "  done  in  the  eye."  So  he 
phrased  it  to  himself  as  he  lay  in  bed.  He  wanted  a 
definite  and  utterly  reliable  address. 


96  THE  OLD  ADAM 

He  rang  the  bell.  Only,  as  it  happened  to  be 
the  wrong  bell,  he  obtained  the  presence  of  Joseph 
in  a  round-about  way,  through  the  agency  of  a 
gentleman  in  waiting.  Such,  however,  is  the  human 
faculty  of  adaptation  to  environment  that  he  was 
merely  amused  in  the  morning  by  an  error  which, 
on  the  previous  night,  would  have  put  him  into  a 
sweat. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Joseph. 

Edward  Henry  nodded,  his  hands  under  his  head 
as  he  lay  on  his  back.  He  decided  to  leave  all 
initiative  to  Joseph.  The  man  drew  up  the  blinds, 
and,  closing  the  double  windows  at  the  top,  opened 
them  very  wide  at  the  bottom. 

"  It  is  a  rainy  morning,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  letting 
in  vast  quantities  of  air  from  Devonshire  Square. 
Clearly,  Sir  Nicholas  Winkworth  had  been  a  breezy 
master. 

"  Oh !  "  murmured  Edward  Henry. 

He  felt  a  careless  contempt  for  Joseph's  flunkey- 
ism.  Hitherto  he  had  had  a  theory  that  footmen, 
valets,  and  all  male  personal  attendants  were  an  in- 
excusable excrescence  on  the  social  fabric.  The 
mere  sight  of  them  often  angered  him,  though  for 
some  reason  he  had  no  objection  whatever  to  servil- 
ity in  a  nice-looking  maid  —  indeed,  rather  enjoyed 
it.  But  now,  in  the  person  of  Joseph,  he  saw  that 
there  were  human  or  half-human  beings  born  to 
self-abasement,  and  that,  if  their  destiny  was  to  be 
fulfilled,  valetry  was  a  necessary  institution.  He  had 
no  pity  for  Joseph,  no  shame  in  employing  him. 


WILKINS'S  97 

He  scorned  Joseph;  and  yet  his  desire,  as  a  man 
about  town,  to  keep  Joseph's  esteem  was  in  no  way 
diminished. 

"  Shall  I  prepare  your  bath,  sir?  "  asked  Joseph, 
stationed  in  a  supple  attitude  by  the  side  of  the  bed. 

Edward  Henry  was  visited  by  an  idea. 

"Have  you  had  yours?"  he  demanded  like  a 
pistol-shot. 

Edward  Henry  saw  that  Sir  Nicholas  had  never 
asked  that  particular  question. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Not  had  your  bath,  man !  What  on  earth  do 
you  mean  by  it?  Go  and  have  your  bath  at  once!  " 

A  faint  sycophantic  smile  lightened  the  amazed 
features  of  Joseph.  And  Edward  Henry  thought: 
"  It's  astonishing,  all  the  same,  the  way  they  can 
read  their  masters.  This  chap  has  seen  already  that 
I'm  a  card.  And  yet  how?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Joseph. 

"  Have  your  bath  in  the  bathroom  here.  And 
be  sure  to  leave  everything  in  order  for  me." 

"Yes,  sir." 

As  soon  as  Joseph  had  gone,  Edward  Henry 
jumped  out  of  bed  and  listened.  He  heard  the  dis- 
creet Joseph  respectfully  push  the  bolt  of  the  bath- 
room door.  Then  he  crept  with  noiseless  rapidity 
to  the  small  bedroom,  and  was  aware  therein  of  a 
lack  of  order  and  of  ventilation.  The  rich  and 
distinguished  overcoat  was  hanging  on  the  brass 
knob  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  He  seized  it,  and, 
scrutinizing  the  loop,  read  in  yellow  letters:  Quay- 


98  THE  OLD  ADAM 

ther  and  Cuthering,  47  Vigo  Street,  W .  He  knew 
that  Quayther  and  Cuthering  must  be  the  tailors  of 
Sir  Nicholas  Winkworth,  and  hence  first-class. 

Hoping  for  the  best,  and  putting  his  trust  in  the 
general  decency  of  human  nature,  he  did  not  trouble 
himself  with  the  problem:  was  the  overcoat  a  gift 
or  an  appropriation?  But  he  preferred  to  assume 
the  generosity  of  Sir  Nicholas  rather  than  the  dis- 
honesty of  Joseph. 

Repassing  the  bathroom  door,  he  knocked  loudly 
on  its  glass. 

"Don't  be  all  day!"  he  cried.  He  was  in  a 
hurry  now. 

An  hour  later  he  said  to  Joseph : 

"  I'm  going  down  to  Quayther  and  Cuther- 
ing's." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  obviously  much  reas- 
sured. 

"  Nincompoop !  "  Edward  Henry  exclaimed  se- 
cretly. "  The  fool  thinks  better  of  me  because  my 
tailors  are  first-class." 

But  Edward  Henry  had  failed  to  notice  that  he 
himself  was  thinking  better  of  himself  because  he 
had  adopted  first-class  tailors. 

Beneath  the  main  door  of  his  suite,  as  he  went 
forth,  he  found  a  business  card  of  the  West  End 
Electric  Brougham  Supply  Agency.  And  down- 
stairs, solely  to  impress  his  individuality  on  the  hall- 
porter,  he  showed  the  card  to  that  vizier  with  the 
casual  question: 

"These  people  any  good?" 


WILKINS'S  99 

"  An  excellent  firm,  sir." 

"  What  do  they  charge?  " 

"By  the  week,  sir?" 

He  hesitated.     "  Yes,  by  the  week?  " 

"  Twenty  guineas,  sir." 

"  Well,  you  might  telephone  for  one.  Can  you 
get  it  at  once?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

The  vizier  turned  towards  the  telephone  in  his 
lair. 

"  I  say — "  said  Edward  Henry. 

"Sir?" 

"  I  suppose  one  will  be  enough?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  as  a  rule,  yes,"  said  the  vizier  calmly. 
"  Sometimes  I  get  a  couple  for  one  family,  sir." 

Though  he  had  started  jocularly,  Edward  Henry 
finished  by  blenching.  "  I  think  one  will  do.  .  .  . 
I  may  possibly  send  for  my  own  car." 

He  drove  to  Quayther  and  Cuthering's  in  his  elec- 
tric brougham,  and  there  dropped  casually  the  name 
of  Winkworth.  He  explained  humourously  his 
singular  misadventure  of  the  Minnetonka,  and  was 
very  successful  therewith,  so  successful  indeed,  that 
he  actually  began  to  believe  in  the  reality  of  the 
adventure  himself,  and  had  an  irrational  impulse  to 
despatch  a  wireless  message  to  his  bewildered  valet 
on  board  the  Minnetonka. 

Subsequently  he  paid  other  fruitful  visits  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  at  about  half-past  eleven  the 
fruit  was  arriving  at  Wilkins's  in  the  shape  of  many 
parcels  and  boxes,  comprising  diverse  items  in  the 


ioo  THE  OLD  ADAM 

equipment  of  a  man  about  town,  such  as  tie-clips 
and  Innovation  trunks. 

Returning  late  to  Wilkins's  for  lunch,  he  marched 
jauntily  into  the  large  brilliant  restaurant,  and  com- 
menced an  adequate  repast.  Of  course  he  was  still 
wearing  his  mediocre  lounge  suit  (his  sole  suit  for 
another  two  days),  but  somehow  the  consciousness 
that  Quayther  and  Cutherings  were  cutting  out 
wondrous  garments  for  him  in  Vigo  Street  stiffened 
his  shoulders  and  gave  a  mysterious  style  to  that 
lounge  suit. 

At  lunch  he  made  one  mistake,  and  enjoyed  one 
very  remarkable  piece  of  luck. 

The  mistake  was  to  order  an  artichoke.  He  did 
not  know  how  to  eat  an  artichoke.  He  had  never 
tried  to  eat  an  artichoke,  and  his  first  essay  in  this 
difficult  and  complex  craft  was  a  sad  fiasco.  It 
would  not  have  mattered  if,  at  the  table  next  to  his 
own,  there  had  not  been  two  obviously  experienced 
women,  one  ill  dressed,  with  a  red  hat,  the  other 
well  dressed,  with  a  blue  hat;  one  middle-aged,  the 
other  much  younger;  but  both  very  observant.  And 
even  so,  it  would  scarcely  have  mattered,  had  not 
the  younger  woman  been  so  slim,  pretty,  and  allur- 
ing. While  tolerably  careless  of  the  opinion  of  the 
red-hatted  plain  woman  of  middle  age,  he  desired 
the  unqualified  approval  of  the  delightful  young 
thing  in  the  blue  hat.  They  certainly  interested 
themselves  in  his  manoeuvres  with  the  artichoke, 
and  their  amusement  was  imperfectly  concealed.  He 
forgave  the  blue  hat,  but  considered  that  the  red 


WILKINS'S  101 

hat  ought  to  have  known  better.  They  could  not 
be  princesses,  nor  even  titled  aristocrats.  He  sup- 
posed them  to  belong  to  some  baccarat-playing  county 
family. 

The  piece  of  luck  consisted  in  the  passage  down 
the  restaurant  of  the  Countess  of  Chell,  who  had 
been  lunching  there  with  a  party,  and  whom  he  had 
known  locally  in  more  gusty  days.  The  countess 
bowed  stiffly  to  the  red  hat,  and  the  red  hat  re- 
sponded with  eager  fulsomeness.  It  seemed  to  be 
here  as  it  no  longer  was  in  the  Five  Towns:  every- 
body knew  everybody!  The  red  hat  and  the  blue 
might  be  titled,  after  all,  he  thought.  Then,  by 
sheer  accident,  the  countess  caught  sight  of  him,  and 
stopped  dead,  bringing  her  escort  to  a  standstill  be- 
hind her.  Edward  Henry  blushed  and  rose. 

"  Is  it  you,  Mr.  Machin?  "  murmured  the  still 
lovely  creature  warmly. 

They  shook  hands.  Never  had  social  pleasure 
so  thrilled  him.  The  conversation  was  short.  He 
did  not  presume  on  the  past.  He  knew  that  here 
he  was  not  on  his  own  ash-pit,  as  they  say  in  the 
Five  Towns.  The  countess  and  her  escort  went  for- 
ward. Edward  Henry  sat  down  again. 

He  gave  the  red  and  the  blue  hats  one  calm 
glance,  which  they  failed  to  withstand.  The  affair 
of  the  artichoke  was  forever  wiped  out. 

After  lunch  he  went  forth  again  in  Ms  electric 
brougham.  The  weather  had  cleared.  The  opu- 
lent streets  were  full  of  pride  and  sunshine.  And 
as  he  penetrated  into  one  shop  after  another,  re- 


102  THE  OLD  ADAM 

ceiving  kowtows,  obeisances,  curtsies,  homage,  sur- 
render, resignation,  submission,  he  gradually  com- 
prehended that  it  takes  all  sorts  to  make  a  world, 
and  that  those  who  are  called  to  greatness  must  ac- 
cept with  dignity  the  ceremonials  inseparable  from 
greatness.  And  the  world  had  never  seemed  to  him 
so  fine,  nor  any  adventure  so  diverting  and  uplifting 
as  this  adventure. 

When  he  returned  to  his  suite,  his  private  cor- 
ridor was  piled  up  with  a  numerous  and  excessively 
attractive  assortment  of  parcels.  Joseph  took  his 
overcoat  and  hat  and  a  new  umbrella,  and  placed 
an  easy  chair  conveniently  for  him  in  the  drawing- 
room. 

"  Get  my  bill,"  he  said  shortly  to  Joseph  as  he 
sank  into  the  gilded  fauteuil. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

One  advantage  of  a  valet,  he  discovered,  is  that 
you  can  order  him  to  do  things  which  to  do  yourself 
would  more  than  exhaust  your  moral  courage. 

The  black-calved  gentleman  in  waiting  brought  the 
bill.  It  lay  on  a  salver,  and  was  folded,  conceiv- 
ably so  as  to  break  the  shock  of  it  to  the  recipient. 

Edward  Henry  took  it. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  said. 

He  read  on  the  bill:  "Apartment  £8.  Dinner 
£1-2-0.  Breakfast  6s.  6d.  Lunch  i8s.  Half 
Chablis  6s.  6d.  Valet's  board  los.  Tooth-brush 
2s.  6d. 

"  That's  a  bit  thick,  half  a  crown  for  that  tooth- 
brush!" he  said  to  himself.  "However — " 


WILKINS'S  103 

The  next  instant  he  blenched  once  more. 

"Gosh!"  he  privately  exclaimed  as  he  read: 
"  Paid  driver  of  taxicab  £2-3-6." 

He  had  forgotten  the  taxi.  But  he  admired  the 
sang-froid  of  Wilkins's,  which  paid  such  trifles  as  a 
matter  of  course,  without  deigning  to  disturb  a  guest 
by  an  enquiry.  Wilkins's  rose  again  in  his  es- 
teem. 

The  total  of  the  bill  exceeded  thirteen  pounds. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  to  the  gentleman  in  waiting. 

"  Are  you  leaving  to-day,  sir?  "  the  being  per- 
mitted himself  to  ask. 

"  Of  course  I'm  not  leaving  to-day!  Haven't  I 
hired  an  electric  brougham  for  a  week?  "  Edward 
Henry  burst  out.  "  But  I  suppose  I'm  entitled  to 
know  how  much  I'm  spending!  " 

The  gentleman  in  waiting  humbly  bowed,  and 
departed. 

Alone  in  the  splendid  chamber,  Edward  Henry 
drew  out  a  swollen  pocketbook  and  examined  its 
crisp,  crinkly  contents,  which  made  a  beauteous  and 
a  reassuring  sight. 

"  Pooh !  "  he  muttered. 

He  reckoned  he  would  be  living  at  the  rate  of 
about  fifteen  pounds  a  day,  or  five  thousand  five 
hundred  a  year.  (He  did  not  count  the  cost  of 
his  purchases,  because  they  were  in  the  nature  of  a 
capital  expenditure.) 

"  Cheap !  "  he  muttered.  "  For  once  I'm  about 
living  up  to  my  income !  " 

The  sensation  was  exquisite  in  its  novelty. 


104  THE  OLD  ADAM 

He  ordered  tea,  and  afterwards,  feeling  sleepy, 
he  went  fast  asleep. 

He  awoke  to  the  ringing  of  the  telephone-bell.  It 
was  quite  dark.  The  telephone-bell  continued  to 
ring. 

"Joseph!"  he  called. 

The  valet  entered. 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"  After  ten  o'clock,  sir." 

"  The  deuce  it  is !  " 

He  had  slept  over  four  hours! 

"  Well,  answer  that  confounded  telephone." 

Joseph  obeyed. 

"  It's  a  Mr.  Bryany,  sir,  if  I  catch  the  name 
right,"  said  Joseph. 

Bryany!  For  twenty-four  hours  he  had  scarcely 
thought  of  Bryany,  or  the  option  either. 

"  Bring  the  telephone  here,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

The  cord  would  just  reach  to  his  chair. 

"  Hello !  Bryany !  Is  that  you  ?  "  cried  Edward 
Henry  gaily. 

And  then  he  heard  the  weakened  voice  of  Mr. 
Bryany  in  his  ear: 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Machin.  I've  been  after 
you  for  the  better  part  of  two  days,  and  now  I  find 
you're  staying  in  the  same  hotel  as  Mr.  Sachs  and 
me!" 

"Oh!"  said  Edward  Henry. 

He  understood  now  why  on  the  previous  day  the 
dandy  introducing  him  to  his  suite  had  smiled  a 


WILKINS'S  105 

welcome  at  the  name  of  Alderman  Machln,  and  why 
Joseph  had  accepted  so  naturally  the  command  to 
take  a  bath.  Bryany  had  been  talking.  Bryany 
had  been  recounting  his  exploits  as  a  card. 

The  voice  of  Bryany  In  his  ear  continued : 

"Look  here!  I've  got  Miss  Euclid  here  and 
some  friends  of  hers.  Of  course  she  wants  to  see 
you  at  once.  Can  you  come  down?  " 

"Er— "     He  hesitated. 

He  could  not  come  down.  He  would  have  no 
evening  wear  till  the  next  day  but  one. 

Said  the  voice  of  Bryany: 

"What?" 

"  I  can't,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  I'm  not  very 
well.  But  listen.  All  of  you  come  up  to  my  rooms 
here  and  have  supper,  will  you?  Suite  48." 

"  I'll  ask  the  lady,"  said  the  voice  of  Bryany,  al- 
tered now,  and  a  few  seconds  later:  "We're  com- 
ing." 

"  Joseph,"  Edward  Henry  gave  orders  rapidly  as 
he  took  off  his  coat  and  removed  the  pocketbook 
from  it.  "  I'm  ill,  you  understand.  Anyhow,  not 
well.  Take  this,"  handing  him  the  coat,  "  and  bring 
me  the  new  dressing-gown  out  of  that  green  card- 
board box  from  Rollet's  —  I  think  it  is.  And  then 
get  the  supper  menu.  I'm  very  hungry.  I've  had 
no  dinner." 

Within  sixty  seconds  he  sat  in  state,  wearing  a 
grandiose  yellow  dressing-gown.  The  change  was 
accomplished  just  in  time.  Mr.  Bryany  entered, 


io6  THE  OLD  ADAM 

and  not  only  Mr.  Bryany,  but  Mr.  Seven  Sachs,  and 
not  only  these,  but  the  lady  who  had  worn  a  red 
hat  at  lunch. 

"  Miss  Rose  Euclid,"  said  Mr.  Bryany,  puffing 
and  bending. 


CHAPTER  IV 

ENTRY   INTO  THE   THEATRICAL   WORLD 
I. 

ONCE,  on  a  short  visit  to  London,  Edward 
Henry  had  paid  half  a  crown  to  be  let  into 
a  certain  enclosure  with  a  very  low  ceiling. 
This  enclosure  was  already  crowded  with  some  three 
hundred  people,  sitting  and  standing.  Edward 
Henry  had  stood  in  the  only  unoccupied  spot  he 
could  find,  behind  a  pillar.  When  he  had  made  him- 
self as  comfortable  as  possible  by  turning  up  his 
collar  against  the  sharp  winds  that  continually  en- 
tered from  the  street,  he  had  peered  forward,  and 
seen  in  front  of  this  enclosure  another  and  larger 
enclosure  also  crowded  with  people,  but  more  ex- 
pensive people.  After  a  blank  interval  of  thirty 
minutes  a  band  had  begun  to  play  at  an  incredible 
distance  in  front  of  him,  extinguishing  the  noises  of 
traffic  in  the  street.  After  another  interval  an  ob- 
long space,  rather  further  off  even  than  the  band, 
suddenly  grew  bright,  and  Edward  Henry,  by  curv- 
ing his  neck,  first  to  one  side  of  the  pillar  and  then 
to  the  other,  had  had  tantalising  glimpses  of  the  in- 
terior of  a  doll's  drawing-room  and  of  male  and  fe- 
male dolls  therein. 

He  could  only  see,  even  partially,  the  interior  half 

107 


io8  THE  OLD  ADAM 

of  the  drawing-room, —  a  little  higher  than  the 
heads  of  the  dolls, —  because  the  rest  was  cut 
off  from  his  vision  by  the  lowness  of  his  own  ceil- 
ing. 

The  dolls  were  talking,  but  he  could  not  catch 
clearly  what  they  said,  save  at  the  rare  moments 
when  an  omnibus  or  a  van  did  not  happen  to  be 
thundering  down  the  street  behind  him.  Then  one 
special  doll  had  come  exquisitely  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  at  the  sight  of  her  the  five  hundred  peo- 
ple in  front  of  him,  and  numbers  of  other  people 
perched  hidden  beyond  his  ceiling,  had  clapped 
fervently  and  even  cried  aloud  in  their  excitement. 
And  he,  too,  had  clapped  fervently,  and  had  mut- 
tered "  Bravo !  "  This  special  doll  was  a  marvel 
of  touching  and  persuasive  grace,  with  a  voice  — 
when  Edward  Henry  could  hear  it  —  that  melted 
the  spine.  This  special  doll  had  every  elegance,  and 
seemed  to  be  in  the  highest  pride  of  youth.  At  the 
close  of  the  affair,  as  this  special  doll  sank  into  the 
embrace  of  a  male  doll  from  whom  she  had  been 
unjustly  separated,  and  then  straightened  herself, 
deliciously  and  confidently  smiling,  to  take  the  tre- 
mendous applause  of  Edward  Henry  and  the  rest, 
Edward  Henry  thought  that  he  had  never  assisted 
at  a  triumph  so  genuine  and  so  inspiring.  Oblivious 
of  the  pain  in  his  neck,  and  of  the  choking  foul  at- 
mosphere of  the  enclosure,  accurately  described  as 
the  pit,  he  had  gone  forth  into  the  street  with  a  sub- 
conscious notion  in  his  head  that  the  special  doll 
was  more  than  human,  was  half  divine.  And  he  had 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         109 

said  afterwards,  with  immense  satisfaction,  at  Burs- 
ley:  "Yes,  I  saw  Rose  Euclid  in  'Flower  of  the 
Heart.'  " 

He  had  never  set  eyes  on  her  since. 

And  now,  on  this  day  at  Wilkins's,  he  had  seen 
in  the  restaurant,  and  he  saw  again  before  him  in 
his  private  parlour,  a  faded  and  stoutish  woman, 
negligently  if  expensively  dressed,  with  a  fatigued, 
nervous,  watery  glance,  an  unnatural,  pale-violet 
complexion,  a  wrinkled  skin,  and  dyed  hair;  a 
woman  of  whom  it  might  be  said  that  she  had  es- 
caped grandmotherhood,  if  indeed  she  had  escaped 
it,  by  mere  luck  —  and  he  was  pointblank  com- 
manded to  believe  that  she  and  Rose  Euclid  were 
the  same  person. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  shattering  shocks  of  all 
his  career,  which,  nevertheless,  had  not  been  un- 
tumultuous.  And  within  his  dressing-gown  — 
which  nobody  remarked  upon  —  he  was  busy  pick- 
ing up  and  piecing  together,  as  quickly  as  he  could, 
the  shivered  fragments  of  his  Ideas. 

He  literally  did  not  recognise  Rose  Euclid. 
True,  fifteen  years  had  passed  since  the  night  in  the 
pit!  And  he  himself  was  fifteen  years  older.  But 
in  his  mind  he  had  never  pictured  any  change  in 
Rose  Euclid.  True,  he  had  been  familiar  with  the 
enormous  renown  of  Rose  Euclid  as  far  back  as  he 
could  remember  taking  any  interest  in  theatrical  ad- 
vertisements!  But  he  had  not  permitted  her  to 
reach  an  age  of  more  than  about  thirty-one  or 
two.  Whereas  he  now  perceived  that  even  the  ex- 


I  io  THE  OLD  ADAM 

quisite  doll  in  paradise  that  he  had  gloated  over 
from  his  pit  must  have  been  quite  thirty-five  — 
then.  .  .  . 

Well,  he  scornfully  pitied  Rose  Euclid.  He 
blamed  her  for  not  having  accomplished  the  miracle 
of  eternal  youth.  He  actually  considered  that  she 
had  cheated  him.  "  Is  this  all?  What  a  swindle  I  " 
he  thought,  as  he  was  piecing  together  the  shivered 
fragments  of  his  ideas  into  a  new  pattern.  He  had 
felt  much  the  same  as  a  boy,  at  Bursley  Annual 
Wakes  once,  on  entering  a  booth  which  promised 
horrors  and  did  not  supply  them.  He  had  been 
"  done  "  all  these  years.  .  .  . 

Reluctantly  he  admitted  that  Rose  Euclid  could 
not  help  her  age.  But,  at  any  rate,  she  ought  to 
have  grown  older  beautifully,  with  charming  dignity 
and  vivacity  —  in  fact,  she  ought  to  have  contrived 
to  be  old  and  young  simultaneously.  Or,  in  the  al- 
ternative, she  ought  to  have  modestly  retired  into 
the  country  and  lived  on  her  memories  and  such 
money  as  she  had  not  squandered.  She  had  no 
right  to  be  abroad.  At  worst,  she  ought  to  have 
looked  famous.  And,  because  her  name  and  fame 
and  photographs,  as  an  emotional  actress  had  been 
continually  in  the  newspapers,  therefore  she  ought 
to  have  been  refined,  delicate,  distinguished,  and  full 
of  witty  and  gracious  small  talk.  That  she  had 
played  the  heroine  of  "  Flower  of  the  Heart "  four 
hundred  times,  and  the  heroine  of  "  The  Grena- 
dier "  four  hundred  and  fifty  times,  and  the  heroine 
of  "  The  Wife's  Ordeal  "  nearly  five  hundred  times, 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         in 

made  it  incumbent  upon  her,  in  Edward  Henry's 
subconscious  opinion,  to  possess  all  the  talents  of  a 
woman  of  the  world  and  all  the  virgin  freshness  of 
a  girl.  Which  shows  how  cruelly  stupid  Edward 
Henry  was  in  comparison  with  the  enlightened  rest 
of  us. 

Why  (he  protested  secretly),  she  was  even 
tongue-tied ! 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Machin,"  she  said  awk- 
wardly, in  a  weak  voice,  with  a  peculiar  gesture  as 
she  shook  hands.  Then,  a  mechanical  nervous  gig- 
gle —  and  then  silence. 

"  Happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Seven  Sachs,  and  the  arch-famous  American  ac- 
tor-author also  lapsed  into  silence.  But  the  silence 
of  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  was  different  from  Rose  Eu- 
clid's. He  was  not  shy.  A  dark  and  handsome, 
tranquil,  youngish  man,  with  a  redoubtable  square 
chin,  delicately  rounded  at  the  corners,  he  strikingly 
resembled  his  own  figure  on  the  stage;  and,  more- 
over, he  seemed  to  regard  silence  as  a  natural  and 
proper  condition.  He  simply  stood,  in  a  graceful 
posture,  with  his  muscles  at  ease,  and  waited. 

Mr.  Bryany,  behind,  seemed  to  be  reduced  in 
stature,  and  to  have  become  apologetic  for  himself 
in  the  presence  of  greatness. 

Still,  Mr.  Bryany  did  say  something. 

Said  Mr.  Bryany: 

"  Sorry  to  hear  you've  been  seedy,  Mr.  Machin!  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  Rose  Euclid  blurted  out,  as  if  shot. 
11  It's  very  good  of  you  to  ask  us  up  here." 


ii2  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Mr.  Seven  Sachs  concurred,  adding  that  he  hoped 
the  illness  was  not  serious. 

Edward  Henry  said  it  was  not. 
'  Won't  you  sit  down,  all  of  you?  "  said  Edward 
Henry.     "  Miss  —  er  —  Euclid  — " 

They  all  sat  down  except  Mr.  Bryany. 

"  Sit  down,  Bryany,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  I'm 
glad  to  be  able  to  return  your  hospitality  at  the 
Turk's  Head." 

This  was  a  blow  for  Mr.  Bryany,  who  obviously 
felt  it,  and  grew  even  more  apologetic  as  he  fumbled 
with  assumed  sprightliness  at  a  chair. 

"  Fancy  your  being  here  all  the  time!  "  said  he, 
"  and  me  looked  for  you  everywhere  — " 

"  Mr.  Bryany,"  Seven  Sachs  interrupted  him 
calmly,  "  have  you  got  those  letters  off?  " 

"  Not  yet,  sir." 

Seven  Sachs  urbanely  smiled.  "  I  think  we  ought 
to  get  them  off  to-night." 

"  Certainly,"  agreed  Mr.  Bryany  with  eagerness, 
and  moved  towards  the  door. 

"  Here's  the  key  of  my  sitting-room,"  Seven 
Sachs  stopped  him,  producing  a  key. 

Mr.  Bryany,  by  a  mischance  catching  Edward 
Henry's  eye  as  he  took  the  key,  blushed. 

In  a  moment  Edward  Henry  was  alone  with  the 
two  silent  celebrities. 

11  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry  to  himself,  "  I've 
let  myself  in  for  it  this  time  —  no  mistake !  What 
in  the  name  of  common  sense  am  I  doing  here?  " 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         113 

Rose  Euclid  coughed,  and  arranged  the  folds  of 
her  dress. 

"  I  suppose,  like  most  Americans,  you  see  all  the 
sights,"  said  Edward  Henry  to  Seven  Sachs,  "  the 
Five  Towns  is  much  visited  by  Americans.  What 
do  you  think  of  rny  dressing-gown?  " 

"Bully!"  said  Seven  Sachs,  with  the  faintest 
twinkle.  And  Rose  Euclid  gave  the  mechanical 
nervous  giggle. 

"  I  can  do  with  this  chap,"  thought  Edward 
Henry. 

The  gentleman  in  waiting  entered  with  the  supper 
menu. 

"  Thank  Heaven!  "  thought  Edward  Henry. 

Rose  Euclid,  requested  to  order  a  supper  after 
her  own  mind,  stared  vaguely  at  the  menu  for  some 
moments,  and  then  said  that  she  did  not  know  what 
to  order. 

"  Artichokes?  "  Edward  Henry  blandly  suggested. 

Again  the  giggle,  followed  this  time  by  a  flush! 
And  suddenly  Edward  Henry  recognised  in  her  the 
entrancing  creature  of  fifteen  years  ago !  Her  head 
thrown  back,  she  had  put  her  left  hand  behind  her, 
and  was  groping  with  her  long  fingers  for  an  object 
to  touch.  Having  found  at  length  the  arm  of  an- 
other chair,  she  drew  her  fingers  feverishly  along  its 
surface.  He  vividly  remembered  the  gesture  in 
"  Flower  of  the  Heart."  She  had  used  it  with  ter- 
rific effect  at  every  grand  emotional  crisis  of  the  play. 
He  now  recognised  even  her  face ! 


ii4  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Did  Mr.  Bryany  tell  you  that  my  two  boys  are 
coming  up?  "  said  she.  "  I  left  them  behind  to  do 
some  telephoning  for  me." 

"Delighted!"  said  Edward  Henry.  "The 
more  the  merrier  I  " 

And  he  hoped  that  he  spoke  true. 

But  her  two  boys  I 

"  Mr.  Marrier  —  he's  a  young  manager.  I  don't 
knew  whether  you  know  him;  very,  very  talented. 
And  Carlo  Trent." 

"  Same  name  as  my  dog,"  Edward  Henry  indis- 
creetly murmured;  and  his  fancy  flew  back  to  the 
home  he  had  quitted,  and  Wilkins's  and  everybody 
in  it  grew  transiently  unreal  to  him. 

"  Delighted !  "  he  said  again. 

He  was  relieved  that  her  two  boys  were  not  her 
offspring.  That  at  least  was  something  gained. 

"  You  know  —  the  dramatist,"  said  Rose  Euclid, 
apparently  disappointed  by  the  effect  on  Edward 
Henry  of  the  name  of  Carlo  Trent. 

"Really!"  said  Edward  Henry.  "I  hope  he 
won't  mind  me  being  in  a  dressing-gown." 

The  gentleman  in  waiting,  obsequiously  restive, 
managed  to  choose  the  supper  himself.  Leaving,  he 
reached  the  door  just  in  time  to  hold  it  open  for  the 
entrance  of  Mr.  Marrier  and  Mr.  Carlo  Trent,  who 
were  talking,  with  noticeable  freedom  and  emphasis, 
in  an  accent  which  in  the  Five  Towns  is  known  as  the 
"  haw-haw,"  the  "  lah-di-dah,"  or  the  "  Kensington- 
ian  "  accent. 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         115 

ii. 

Within  ten  minutes,  within  less  than  ten  minutes, 
Alderman  Edward  Henry  Machin's  supper-party  at 
Wilkins's  was  so  wonderfully  changed  for  the  better 
that  Edward  Henry  might  have  been  excused  for  not 
recognising  it  as  his  own. 

The  service  at  Wilkins's,  where  they  profoundly 
understood  human  nature,  was  very  intelligent. 
Somewhere  in  a  central  bureau  at  Wilkins's  sat  a 
psychologist  who  knew,  for  example,  that  a  supper 
commanded  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  must  be  pro- 
duced instantly  if  it  is  to  be  enjoyed.  Delay  in  these 
capricious  cases  impairs  the  ecstasy,  and  therefore 
lessens  the  chance  of  other  similar  meals  being  com- 
manded at  the  same  establishment.  Hence,  no 
sooner  had  the  gentleman  in  waiting  disappeared  with 
the  order,  than  certain  esquires  appeared  with  the 
limbs  and  body  of  a  table  which  they  set  up  in  Ed- 
ward Henry's  drawing-room;  and  they  covered  the 
board  with  a  damask  cloth  and  half  covered  the 
damask  cloth  with  flowers,  glasses,  and  plates,  and 
laid  a  special  private  wire  from  the  skirting-board 
near  the  hearth  to  a  spot  on  the  table  beneath  Ed- 
ward Henry's  left  hand,  so  that  he  could  summon 
courtiers  on  the  slightest  provocation  with  the  mini- 
mum of  exertion.  Then  immediately  brown  bread 
and  butter  and  lemons  and  red-pepper  came,  fol- 
lowed by  oysters,  followed  by  bottles  of  pale  wine, 
both  still  and  sparkling.  Thus,  before  the  principal 
dishes  had  even  begun  to  frizzle  in  the  distant  kit- 


n6  THE  OLD  ADAM 

chens,  the  revellers  were  under  the  illusion  that  the 
entire  supper  was  waiting  just  outside  the  door. 

Yes,  they  were  revellers  now!  For  the  advent 
of  her  young  men  had  transformed  Rose  Euclid,  and 
Rose  Euclid  had  transformed  the  general  situation. 
At  the  table,  Edward  Henry  occupied  one  side  of 
it,  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  occupied  the  side  opposite,  Mr. 
Marrier,  the  very,  very  talented  young  manager,  oc- 
cupied the  side  to  Edward  Henry's  left,  and  Rose 
Euclid  and  Carlo  Trent  together  occupied  the  side 
to  his  right. 

Trent  and  Marrier  were  each  about  thirty  years 
of  age.  Trent,  with  a  deep  voice,  had  extremely 
lustrous  eyes,  which  eyes  continually  dwelt  on  Rose 
Euclid  in  admiration.  Apparently,  all  she  needed  in 
this  valley  was  oysters  and  admiration,  and  she  now 
had  both  in  unlimited  quantities. 

"  Oysters  are  darlings,"  she  said,  as  she  swallowed 
the  first. 

Carlo  Trent  kissed  her  hand  respectfully  —  for 
she  was  old  enough  to  be  his  mother. 

"  And  you  are  the  greatest  tragic  actress  in  the 
world,  Ra-ose !  "  said  he  in  the  Kensingtonian 
bass. 

A  few  moments  earlier  Rose  Euclid  had  whis- 
pered to  Edward  Henry  that  Carlo  Trent  was  the 
greatest  dramatic  poet  in  the  world.  She  flowered 
now  beneath  the  sun  of  those  dark  lustrous  eyes  and 
the  soft  rain  of  that  admiration  from  the  greatest 
dramatic  poet  in  the  world.  It  really  did  seem  to 
Edward  Henry  that  she  grew  younger.  Assuredly 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         117 

she  grew  more  girlish,  and  her  voice  improved. 
And  then  the  bottles  began  to  pop,  and  it  was  as 
though  the  action  of  uncorking  wine  automatically 
uncorked  hearts  also.  Mr.  Seven  Sachs,  sitting 
square  and  upright,  smiled  gaily  at  Edward  Henry 
across  the  gleaming  table,  and  raised  a  glass.  Little 
Marrier,  who  at  nearly  all  times  had  a  most  en- 
thusiastic smile,  did  the  same.  In  the  result,  five 
glasses  met  over  the  central  bed  of  chrysanthemums. 
Edward  Henry  was  happy.  Surrounded  by  enigmas, 

—  for  he  had  no  conception  whatever  why   Rose 
Euclid  had  brought  any  of  the  three  men  to  his  table, 

—  he  was  nevertheless  uplifted. 

As  he  looked  about  him,  at  the  rich  table,  and  at 
the  glittering  chandelier  overhead  (albeit  the 
lamps  thereof  were  inferior  to  his  own),  and  at  the 
expanses  of  soft  carpet,  and  at  the  silken-textured 
walls,  and  at  the  voluptuous  curtains,  and  at  the 
couple  of  impeccable  gentlemen  in  waiting,  and  at 
Joseph  who  knew  his  place  behind  his  master's  chair, 

—  he  came  to  the  justifiable  conclusion  that  money 
was  a  marvellous  thing,  and  the  workings  of  com- 
merce mysterious  and  beautiful.     He  had  invented 
the  Five  Towns  Thrift  Club;  working  men  and  their 
wives   in   the   Five  Towns  were   paying  their   two- 
pences,  and  sixpenses,  and  shillings  weekly  into  his 
Club,  and  finding  the  transaction  a  real  convenience 

—  and  lo !  he  was  entertaining  celebrities  at  Wilk- 
ins's. 

For,  mind  you,  they  were  celebrities.  He  knew 
Seven  Sachs  was  a  celebrity  because  he  had  verily 


xx8  THE  OLD  ADAM 

seen  him  act  —  and  act  very  well  —  in  his  own  play, 
and  because  his  name  in  letters  a  foot  high  had  dom- 
inated all  the  hoardings  of  the  Five  Towns.  As 
for  Rose  Euclid,  could  there  be  a  greater  celebrity? 
Such  was  the  strange  power  of  the  popular  legend 
concerning  her,  that  even  now,  despite  the  first  fear- 
ful shock  of  disappointment,  Edward  Henry  could 
not  call  her  by  her  name,  without  self-consciously 
stumbling  over  it,  without  a  curious  thrill.  And  fur- 
ther, he  was  revising  his  judgment  of  her,  as  well 
as  lowering  her  age  slightly.  On  coming  into  the 
room  she  had  doubtless  been  almost  as  startled  as 
himself,  and  her  constrained  muteness  had  been  prob- 
ably due  to  a  guilty  feeling  in  the  matter  of  passing 
too  open  remarks  to  a  friend  about  a  perfect 
stranger's  manner  of  eating  artichokes.  The  which 
supposition  flattered  him.  (By  the  way,  he  wished 
she  had  brought  the  young  friend  who  had  shared 
her  amusement  over  his  artichoke.)  With  regard 
to  the  other  two  men,  he  was  quite  ready  to  believe 
that  Carlo  Trent,  was  the  world's  greatest  poet,  and 
to  admit  the  exceeding  talent  of  Mr.  Marrier  as  a 
theatrical  manager.  ...  In  fact,  unmistakable  celeb- 
rities, one  and  all!  He  himself  was  a  celebrity. 
A  certain  quality  in  the  attitude  of  each  of  his  guests 
showed  clearly  that  they  considered  him  a  celebrity, 
and  not  only  a  celebrity,  but  a  card, —  Bryany  must 
have  been  talking, —  and  the  conviction  of  this  ren- 
dered him  happy.  His  magnificent  hunger  rendered 
him  still  happier.  And  the  reflection  that  Brindley 
owed  him  half  a  crown  put  a  top  on  his  bliss  I 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         119 

"  I  like  your  dressing-gown,  Mr.  Machin,"  said 
Carlo  Trent  suddenly,  after  his  first  spoonful  of 
soup. 

"  Then  I  needn't  apologise  for  it ! "  Edward 
Henry  replied. 

"  It  is  the  dressing-gown  of  my  dreams,"  Carlo 
Trent  went  on. 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  as  we're  on  the 
subject,  I  like  your  shirt-front." 

Carlo  Trent  was  wearing  a  soft  shirt.  The  other 
three  shirts  were  all  rigidly  starched.  Hitherto  Ed- 
ward Henry  had  imagined  that  a  fashionable  even- 
ing shirt  should  be,  before  aught  else,  bullet-proof. 
He  now  appreciated  the  distinction  of  a  frilled  and 
gently  flowing  breastplate,  especially  when  a  broad 
purple  eye-glass  ribbon  wandered  across  it.  Rose 
Euclid  gazed  in  modest  transport  at  Carlo's  chest. 

"  The  colour,"  Carlo  proceeded,  ignoring  Ed- 
ward Henry's  compliment,  "  the  colour  is  inspiring. 
So  is  the  texture.  I  have  a  woman's  delight  in  tex- 
tures. I  could  certainly  produce  better  hexameters 
in  such  a  dressing-gown." 

Although  Edward  Henry,  owing  to  an  unfortunate 
hiatus  in  his  education,  did  not  know  what  a  hex- 
ameter might  be,  he  was  artist  enough  to  comprehend 
the  effect  of  attire  on  creative  work,  for  he  had 
noticed  that  he  himself  could  make  more  money  in 
one  necktie  than  in  another,  and  he  would  instinc- 
tively take  particular  care  in  the  morning  choice  of 
a  cravat  on  days  when  he  meditated  a  great  coup. 

"Why  don't  you  get  one?"  Marrier  suggested. 


120  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Do  you  really  think  I  could?  "  asked  Carlo 
Trent,  as  if  the  possibility  were  shimmering  far  out 
of  his  reach  like  a  rainbow. 

"  Rather !  "  smiled  Marrier.  "  I  don't  mind  lay- 
ing a  fiver  that  Mr.  Machin's  dressing-gown  came 
from  Drook's  in  Old  Bond  Street."  But  instead  of 
saying  "  old  "  he  said  "  ehoold." 

"  It  did,"  Edward  Henry  admitted. 

Mr.  Marrier  beamed  with  satisfaction. 

"Drook's,  you  say?"  murmured  Carlo  Trent. 
"  Old  Bond  Street?  "  and  wrote  down  the  informa- 
tion on  his  shirt-cuff. 

Rose  Euclid  watched  him  write. 

"  Yes,  Carlo,"  said  she.  "  But  don't  you  think 
we'd  better  begin  to  talk  about  the  theatre?  You 
haven't  told  me  yet  if  you  got  hold  of  Longay  on 
the  'phone." 

"  Of  course  we  got  hold  of  him,"  said  Marrier. 
"  He  agrees  with  me  that  *  The  Intellectual '  is  a 
better  name  for  it." 

Rose  Euclid  clapped  her  hands. 

"  I'm  so  glad!  "  she  cried.  "  Now  what  do  you 
think  of  it  as  a  name,  Mr.  Machin, — '  The  Intellec- 
tual Theatre?'  You  see  it's  most  important  we 
should  settle  on  the  name,  isn't  it?  " 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  Edward  Henry 
felt  a  wave  of  cold  in  the  small  of  his  back,  and  also 
a  sinking  away  of  the  nevertheless  quite  solid  chair 
on  which  he  sat.  He  had  more  than  the  typical 
Englishman's  sane  distrust  of  that  morbid  word  "  In- 
tellectual." His  attitude  towards  it  amounted  to  ac- 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         121 

tive  dislike.  If  ever  he  used  it,  he  would  on  no  ac- 
count use  it  alone;  he  would  say,  "  Intellectual,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing!  "  with  an  air  of  pushing  vio- 
lently away  from  him  everything  that  the  phrase 
implied.  The  notion  of  baptising  a  theatre  with  the 
fearsome  word  horrified  him.  Still  he  had  to  main- 
tain his  nerve  and  his  repute.  So  he  drank  some 
champagne,  and  smiled  nonchalantly  as  the  imper- 
turbable duellist  smiles  while  the  pistols  are  being 
examined. 

"  Well  — "  he  murmured. 

"  You  see,"  Marrier  broke  in,  with  the  smile 
ecstatic,  almost  dancing  on  his  chair.  "  There's  no 
use  in  compromise.  Compromise  is  and  always  has 
been  the  curse  of  this  country.  The  unintellectual 
drahma  is  dead  —  dead.  Naoobody  can  deny  that. 
All  the  box-offices  in  the  West  are  proclaiming  it." 

"  Should  you  call  your  play  intellectual,  Mr. 
Sachs?  "  Edward  Henry  inquired  across  the  table. 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  said  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  calmly. 
"  I  know  I've  played  it  myself  fifteen  hundred  and 
two  times,  and  that's  saying  nothing  of  my  three  sub- 
sidiary companies  on  the  road." 

"  What  is  Mr.  Sach's  play?  "  asked  Carlo  Trent 
fretfully. 

"Don't  you  know,  Carlo?"  Rose  Euclid  patted 
him.  "  '  Overheard.'  " 

"  Oh !     I've  never  seen  it." 

"  But  it  was  on  all  the  hoardings!  " 

"  I  never  read  the  hoardings,"  said  Carlo.  "  Is 
it  in  verse?  " 


122  THE  OLD  ADAM 

41  No,  it  isn't,"  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  briefly  responded. 
"  But  I've  made  over  six  hundred  thousand  dollars 
out  of  it." 

"  Then  of  course  it's  intellectual !  "  asserted  Mr. 
Marrier  positively.  "  That  proves  it.  I'm  very 
sorry  I've  not  seen  it  either;  but  it  must  be  intellec- 
tual. The  day  of  the  unintellectual  drama  is  over. 
The  people  won't  have  it.  We  must  have  faith  in 
the  people,  and  we  can't  show  our  faith  better  than 
by  calling  our  theatre  by  its  proper  name  — '  The 
Intellectual  Theatre ! '  " 

("His  theatre!"  thought  Edward  Henry. 
"  What's  he  got  to  do  with  it?  ") 

"  I  don't  know  that  I'm  so  much  in  love  with 
your  '  Intellectual,'  "  muttered  Carlo  Trent. 

"Aren't  you?"  protested  Rose  Euclid,  shocked. 

"  Of  course  I'm  not,"  said  Carlo.  "  I  told  you 
before,  and  I  tell  you  now,  that  there's  only  one 
name  for  the  theatre  — *  The  Muses'  Theatre  I ' 

"  Perhaps  you're  right  I  "  Rose  agreed,  as  if  a 
swift  revelation  had  come  to  her.  '  Yes,  you're 
right." 

("She'll  make  a  cheerful  sort  of  partner  for  a 
fellow,"  thought  Edward  Henry,  "  if  she's  in  the 
habit  of  changing  her  mind  like  that  every  thirty 
seconds."  His  appetite  had  gone.  He  could  only 
drink.) 

"  Naturally,  I'm  right !  Aren't  we  going  to  open 
with  my  play,  and  isn't  my  play  in  verse?  .  .  .  I'm 
sure  you'll  agree  with  me,  Mr.  Machin,  that  there 
is  no  real  drama  except  the  poetical  drama." 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         123 

Edward  Henry  was  entirely  at  a  loss.  Indeed, 
he  was  drowning  in  his  dressing-gown,  so  favour- 
able to  the  composition  of  hexameters. 

"  Poetry  .  .  ."  he  vaguely  breathed. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Carlo  Trent.     "  Poetry." 

"  I've  never  read  any  poetry  in  my  life,"  said 
Edward  Henry,  like  a  desperate  criminal.  "  Not  a 
line." 

Whereupon  Carlo  Trent  rose  up  from  his  seat, 
and  his  eye-glasses  dangled  in  front  of  him. 

"  Mr.  Machin,"  said  he  with  the  utmost  benevo- 
lence. "  This  is  the  most  interesting  thing  I've  ever 
come  across.  Do  you  know,  you're  precisely  the 
man  I've  always  been  wanting  to  meet?  .  .  .  The 
virgin  mind.  The  clean  slate.  .  .  .  Do  you  know, 
you're  precisely  the  man  that  it's  my  ambition  to 
write  for?  " 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you,"  said  Edward  Henry 
feebly,  beaten,  and  consciously  beaten. 

(He  thought  miserably:  "What  would  Nellie 
think  if  she  saw  me  in  this  gang?  ") 

Carlo  Trent  went  on,  turning  to  Rose  Euclid : 

"  Rose,  will  you  recite  those  lines  of  Nashe?  " 

Rose  Euclid  began  to  blush. 
'  That  bit  you  taught  me  the  day  before  yester- 
day?" 

"  Only  the  three  lines !  No  more  I  They  are 
the  very  essence  of  poetry  —  poetry  at  its  purest. 
We'll  see  the  effect  of  them  on  Mr.  Machin.  We'll 
just  see.  It's  the  ideal  opportunity  to  test  my 
theory.  Now,  there's  a  good  girl !  " 


124  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"Oh!  I  can't.  I'm  too  nervous,"  stammered 
Rose. 

"  You  can,  and  you  must,"  said  Carlo,  gazing  at 
her  in  homage.  "  Nobody  in  the  world  can  say 
them  as  well  as  you  can.  Now !  " 

Rose  Euclid  stood  up. 

"  One  moment,"  Carlo  stopped  her.  "  There's 
too  much  light.  We  can't  do  with  all  this  light. 
Mr.  Machin  —  do  you  mind?  " 

A  wave  of  the  hand,  and  all  the  lights  were  ex- 
tinguished, save  a  lamp  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  in 
the  disconcertingly  darkened  room  Rose  Euclid 
turned  her  face  towards  the  ray  from  this  solitary 
silk-shaded  globe. 

Her  hand  groped  out  behind  her,  found  the  table- 
cloth and  began  to  scratch  it  agitatedly.  She  lifted 
her  head.  She  was  the  actress,  impressive  and  sub- 
jugating, and  Edward  Henry  felt  her  power.  Then 
she  intoned : 

"Brightness  falls  from  the  air; 
Queens  have  died  young  and  fair; 
Dust  hath  closed  Helen's  eye." 

And  she  ceased  and  sat  down.  There  was  a  si- 
lence. 

"Bravo!"  murmured  Carlo  Trent. 

"Bravo!"  murmured  Mr.  Marrier. 

Edward  Henry  in  the  gloom  caught  Mr.  Seven 
Sachs's  unalterable  observant  smile  across  the  table. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Machin?  "  said  Carlo  Trent. 

Edward  Henry  had  felt  a  tremor  at  the  vibrations 
of  Rose  Euclid's  voice.  But  the  words  she  uttered 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         125 

had  set  up  no  clear  image  in  his  mind,  unless  it  might 
be  of  some  solid  body  falling  from  the  air,  or  of  a 
young  woman  named  Helen  walking  along  Trafalgar 
Road,  Bursley,  on  a  dusty  day,  and  getting  the  dust 
in  her  eyes.  He  knew  not  what  to  answer. 

"  Is  that  all  there  is  of  it?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

Carlo  Trent  said: 

"  It's  from  Thomas  Nashe's  '  Song  in  Time  of 
Pestilence.'  The  closing  lines  of  the  verse  are: 

"I  am  sick,  I  must  die  — 
Lord,  have  mercy  on  me!" 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  recovering,  "  I 
rather  like  the  end.  I  think  the  end's  very  appro- 
priate." 

Mr.  Seven  Sachs  choked  over  his  wine,  and  kept 
on  choking. 

III. 

Mr.  Marrier  was  the  first  to  recover  from  this 
blow  to  the  prestige  of  poetry.  Or  perhaps  it  would 
be  more  honest  to  say  that  Mr.  Marrier  had  suffered 
no  inconvenience  from  the  contretemps.  His  appar- 
ent gleeful  zest  in  life  had  not  been  impaired.  He 
was  a  born  optimist,  of  an  extreme  type  unknown 
beyond  the  circumferences  of  theatrical  circles. 

"  I  say"  he  emphasised,  "  I've  got  an  ideah.  We 
ought  to  be  photographed  like  that.  Do  you  no  end 
of  good."  He  glanced  encouragingly  at  Rose 
Euclid.  "  Don't  you  see  it  in  the  illustrated  papers? 
1  A  prayvate  supper-party  at  Wilkins's  Hotel.  Miss 
Ra-ose  Euclid  reciting  verse  at  a  discussion  of 


126  THE  OLD  ADAM 

the  plans  for  her  new  theatre  in  Piccadilly  Circus. 
The  figures  reading  from  left  to  right  are:  Mr. 
Seven  Sachs,  the  famous  actor-author;  Miss  Rose 
Euclid;  Mr.  Carlo  Trent,  the  celebrated  dramatic 
poet;  Mr.  Alderman  MLachin,  the  well-known  Mid- 
lands capitalist,'  and  so  on !  "  Mr.  Marrier  repeated, 
"  and  so  on." 

"  It's  a  notion,"  said  Rose  Euclid  dreamily. 

"  But  how  can  we  be  photographed? "  Carlo 
Trent  demanded  with  irritation. 

"  Perfectly  easy." 

"Now?" 

"  In  ten  minutes.  I  know  a  photographer  in 
Brook  Street." 

"  Would  he  come  at  once?  "  Carlo  Trent  frowned 
at  his  watch. 

"Rather!"  Mr.  Marrier  gaily  soothed  him,  as 
he  went  over  to  the  telephone.  And  Mr.  Marrier's 
bright  boyish  face  radiated  forth  the  assurance  that 
nothing  in  all  his  existence  had  more  completely 
filled  him  with  sincere  joy  than  this  enterprise  of 
procuring  a  photograph  of  the  party.  Even  in  giv- 
ing the  photographer's  number, —  he  was  one  of 
those  prodigies  who  remember  infallibly  all  tele- 
phone numbers, —  his  voice  seemed  to  gloat  upon  his 
project. 

(And  while  Mr.  Marrier,  having  obtained  com- 
munication with  the  photographer,  was  saying  glor- 
iously into  the  telephone :  "  Yes,  Wilkins's.  No. 
Quite  private.  I've  got  Miss  Rose  Euclid  here,  and 
Mr.  Seven  Sachs  — "  while  Mr.  Marrier  was  thus 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         127 

proceeding  with  his  list  of  star  attractions,  Edward 
Henry  was  thinking:  "  '  Her  new  theatre/ —  now  I 
It  was  '  his  '  a  few  minutes  back  I  .  .  . 

"The  well-known  Midland  capitalist,  eh?  Ohl 
Ah!") 

He  drank  again.  He  said  to  himself:  "I've 
had  all  I  can  digest  of  this  beastly  balloony  stuff." 
(He  meant  the  champagne.)  "  If  I  finish  this  glass, 
I'm  bound  to  have  a  bad  night."  And  he  finished 
the  glass,  and  planked  it  down  firmly  on  the  table. 

"  Well,"  he  remarked  aloud  cheerfully,  "  if  we're 
to  be  photographed,  I  suppose  we  shall  want  a  bit 
more  light  on  the  subject." 

Joseph  sprang  to  the  switches. 

"  Please  I  "  Carlo  Trent  raised  a  protesting  hand. 

The  switches  were  not  turned.  In  the  beautiful 
dimness  the  greatest  tragic  actress  in  the  world  and 
the  greatest  dramatic  poet  in  the  world  gazed  at 
each  other,  seeking  and  finding  solace  in  mutual  es- 
teem. 

"  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  do  to  call  it  the  Euclid 
Theater?  "  Rose  questioned  casually,  without  mov- 
ing her  eyes. 

"Splendid I"  cried  Mr.  Marrier  from  the  tele- 
phone. 

"  It  all  depends  whether  there  are  enough  mathe- 
matical students  in  London  to  fill  the  theater  for  a 
run,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

"Oh!  D'you  think  so?"  murmured  Rose,  sur- 
prised and  vaguely  puzzled. 

At  that  instant  Edward  Henry  might  have  rushed 


128  THE  OLD  ADAM 

from  the  room  and  taken  the  night  mail  back  to  the 
Five  Towns,  and  never  any  more  have  ventured 
into  the  perils  of  London,  if  Carlo  Trent  had  not 
turned  his  head  and  signified  by  a  curt  reluctant  laugh 
that  he  saw  the  joke.  For  Edward  Henry  could  no 
longer  depend  on  Mr.  Seven  Sachs.  Mr.  Seven 
Sachs  had  to  take  the  greatest  pains  to  keep  the 
muscles  of  his  face  in  strict  order.  The  slightest  lax- 
ity with  them  —  and  he  would  have  been  involved  in 
another  and  more  serious  suffocation. 

"  No,"  said  Carlo  Trent,  "  '  The  Muses'  Theatre  ' 
is  the  only  possible  title.  There  is  money  in  the 
poetical  drama."  He  looked  hard  at  Edward  Henry, 
as  though  to  stare  down  the  memory  of  the  failure 
of  Nashe's  verse.  "  I  don't  want  money.  I  hate 
the  thought  of  money.  But  money  is  the  only  proof 
of  democratic  appreciation,  and  that  is  what  I  need, 
and  what  every  artist  needs.  .  .  .  Don't  you  think 
there's  money  in  the  poetical  drama,  Mr.  Sachs?  " 

"  Not  in  America,"  said  Mr.  Sachs.  "  London 
is  a  queer  place." 

"  Look  at  the  runs  of  Stephen  Phillips's  plays !  " 

"  Yes.   ...  I  only  reckon  to  know  America." 

"  Look  at  what  Pilgrim's  made  out  of  Shakes- 
peare." 

"  I  thought  you  were  talking  about  poetry,"  said 
Edward  Henry  too  hastily. 

"  Ajid  isn't  Shakespeare  poetry?"  Carlo  Trent 
challenged. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  if  you  put  it  in  that  way,  he  is!  " 
Edward  Henry  cautiously  admitted,  humbled.  He 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         129 

was  under  the  disadvantage  of  never  having  seen  or 
read  "  Shakespeare."  His  sure  instinct  had  always 
warned  him  against  being  drawn  into  "  Shakes- 
peare." 

"  And  has  Miss  Euclid  ever  done  anything  finer 
than  Constance?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Edward  Henry  pleaded. 

"  Why  —  Miss  Euclid  in  '  King  John  '— " 

"  I  never  saw  '  King  John,'  "  said  Edward  Henry. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  expostulated  Carlo  Trent 
in  italics,  "  that  you  never  saw  Rose  Euclid  as  Con- 
stance? " 

And  Edward  Henry,  shaking  his  abashed  head, 
perceived  that  his  life  had  been  wasted. 

Carlo,  for  a  few  moments,  grew  reflective  and 
softer. 

"  It's  one  of  my  earliest  and  most  precious  boyish 
memories,"  he  murmured,  as  he  examined  the  ceil- 
ing. "  It  must  have  been  in  eighteen  — " 

Rose  Euclid  abandoned  the  ice  with  which  she  had 
just  been  served,  and  by  a  single  gesture  drew  Car- 
lo's attention  away  from  the  ceiling  and  towards  the 
fact  that  it  would  be  clumsy  on  his  part  to  indulge 
further  in  the  chronology  of  her  career.  She  began 
to  blush  again. 

Mr.  Marrier,  now  back  at  the  table  after  a  suc- 
cessful expedition,  beamed  over  his  ice : 

"  It  was  your  '  Constance  '  that  led  to  your  friend- 
ship with  the  Countess  of  Chell,  wasn't  it,  Ra-ose? 
You  know,"  he  turned  to  Edward  Henry,  "  Miss 
Euclid  and  the  countess  are  virry  intimate." 


i3o  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

Rose  Euclid  continued  to  blush.  Her  agitated 
hand  scratched  the  back  of  the  chair  behind  her. 

"  Even  Sir  John  Pilgrim  admits  I  can  act  Shakes- 
peare," she  said  in  a  thick,  mournful  voice,  looking 
at  the  cloth  as  she  pronounced  the  august  name  of 
the  head  of  the  dramatic  profession.  "  It  may  sur- 
prise you  to  know,  Mr.  Machin,  that  about  a  month 
ago,  after  he'd  quarrelled  with  Selina  Gregory,  Sir 
John  asked  me  if  I'd  care  to  star  with  him  on  his 
Shakespearean  tour  round  the  world  next  spring, 
and  I  said  I  would  if  he'd  include  Carlo's  poetical 
play,  '  The  Orient  Pearl,'  and  he  wouldn't !  No, 
he  wouldn't!  And  now  he's  got  little  Cora  Pryde! 
She  isn't  twenty-two,  and  she's  going  to  play  Juliet  1 
Can  you  imagine  such  a  thing?  As  if  a  mere  girl 
could  play  Juliet!  " 

Carlo  observed  the  mature  actress  with  deep  sat- 
isfaction, proud  of  her,  and  proud  also  of  himself. 

"  I  wouldn't  go  with  Pilgrim  now,"  exclaimed 
Rose  passionately,  "  not  if  he  went  down  on  his  knees 
tome!" 

"  And  nothing  on  earth  would  induce  me  to  let 
him  have  '  The  Orient  Pearl '  1  "  Carlo  Trent  assev- 
erated with  equal  passion.  "  He's  lost  that  forever," 
he  added  grimly.  "  It  won't  be  he  who'll  collar  the 
profits  out  of  that!  It'll  just  be  ourselves!  " 

"  Not  if  he  went  down  on  his  knees  to  me!  "  Rose 
was  repeating  to  herself  with  fervency. 

The  calm  of  despair  took  possession  of  Edward 
Henry.  He  felt  that  he  must  act  immediately  —  he 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         131 

knew  his  own  mood,  by  long  experience.  Exploring 
the  pockets  of  the  dressing-gown  which  had  aroused 
the  longing  of  the  greatest  dramatic  poet  in  the 
world,  he  discovered  in  one  of  them  precisely  the 
piece  of  apparatus  he  required;  namely,  a  slip  of 
paper  suitable  for  writing.  It  was  a  carbon  dupli- 
cate of  the  bill  for  the  dressing-gown,  and  showed 
the  word  "  Drook  "  in  massive  printed  black,  and 
the  figures  £4-4-0  in  faint  blue.  He  drew  a  pencil 
from  his  waistcoat  and  inscribed  on  the  paper: 

"  Go  out,  and  then  come  back  in  a  couple  of  min- 
utes and  tell  me  someone  wants  to  speak  to  me  ur- 
gently in  the  next  room." 

With  a  minimum  of  ostentation  he  gave  the  docu- 
ment to  Joseph,  who,  evidently  well  trained  under  Sir 
Nicholas,  vanished  into  the  next  room  before  at- 
tempting to  read  it. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Edward  Henry  to  Carlo  Trent, 
"  that  this  money-making  play  is  reserved  for  the 
new  theatre." 

"  Utterly,"  said  Carlo  Trent. 

"  With  Miss  Euclid  in  the  principal  part?  " 

"  Rather!  "  sang  Mr.  Marrier.     "  Rather!  " 

"  I  shall  never,  never  appear  at  any  other  theatre, 
Mr.  Machin !  "  said  Rose  with  tragic  emotion,  once 
more  feeling  with  her  fingers  along  the  back  of  her 
chair.  "  So  I  hope  the  building  will  begin  at  once. 
In  less  than  six  months  we  ought  to  open." 

"  Easily!  "  sang  the  optimist. 

Joseph  returned  to  the  room,  and  sought  his  mas- 
ter's attention  in  a  whisper. 


132  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"What  is  it?"  Edward  Henry  asked  irritably. 
"Speak  up!" 

"  A  gentleman  wishes  to  know  if  he  can  speak  to 
you  in  the  next  room,  sir." 

"  Well,  he  can't." 

"  He  said  it  was  urgent,  sir." 

Scowling,  Edward  Henry  rose.  "  Excuse  me," 
he  said.  "  I  won't  be  a  moment.  Help  yourselves 
to  the  liqueurs.  You  chaps  can  go,  I  fancy."  The 
last  remark  was  addressed  to  the  gentlemen  in  wait- 
ing. 

The  next  room  was  the  vast  bedroom  with  two  beds 
in  it.  Edward  Henry  closed  the  door  carefully,  and 
drew  the  portiere  across  it.  Then  he  listened.  No 
sound  penetrated  from  the  scene  of  the  supper. 

"  There  is  a.  telephone  in  this  room,  isn't  there?  " 
he  said  to  Joseph.  "  Oh,  yes ;  there  it  is  I  Well, 
you  can  go." 

11  Yes,  sir." 

Edward  Henry  sat  down  on  one  of  the  beds  by 
the  hook  on  which  hung  the  telephone.  And  he 
cogitated  upon  the  characteristics  of  certain  mem- 
bers of  the  party  which  he  had  just  left.  "  I'm  a 
'  virgin  mind,'  am  I?  "  he  thought.  "  I'm  a  '  clean 
slate  '  ?  Well !  .  .  .  Their  notion  of  business  is  to 
begin  by  discussing  the  name  of  the  theatre !  And 
they  haven't  even  taken  up  the  option !  Ye  gods ! 
'  Intellectual !  '  '  Muses ! '  '  The  Orient  Pearl.' 
And  she's  fifty  —  that  I  swear !  Not  a  word  yet  of 
real  business  —  not  one  word!  He  may  be  a  poet. 
I  dare  say  he  is.  He's  a  conceited  ass.  Why,  even 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         133 

Bryany  was  better  than  that  lot.  Only  Sachs  turned 
Bryany  out.  I  like  Sachs.  But  he  won't  open  his 
mouth.  .  .  .  '  Capitalist !  '  Well,  they  spoilt  my 
appetite,  and  I  hate  champagne!  .  .  .  The  poet 
hates  money.  .  .  .  No,  he  *  hates  the  thought  of 
money.'  And  she's  changing  her  mind  the  whole 
blessed  time!  A  month  ago  she'd  have  gone  over 
to  Pilgrim,  and  the  poet  too,  like  a  house  a  fire !  .  .  . 
Photographed  indeed!  The  bally  photographer 
will  be  here  in  a  minute !  .  .  .  They  take  me  for  a 
fool!  ...  Or  don't  they  know  any  better?  .  .  . 
Anyhow,  I  am  a  fool.  ...  I  must  teach  'em  sum- 
mat!" 

He  seized  the  telephone. 

"  Hello !"  he  said  into  it.  "  I  want  you  to  put 
me  on  to  the  drawing-room  of  Suite  No.  48,  please. 
Who  ?  Oh,  me !  I'm  in  the  bedroom  of  Suite  No. 
48.  Machin,  Alderman  Machin.  Thanks.  That's 
all  right." 

He  waited.  Then  he  heard  Marrier's  Kensing- 
tonian  voice  in  the  telephone,  asking  who  he  was. 

"  Is  that  Mr.  Machin's  room?  "  he  continued,  imi- 
tating with  a  broad  farcical  effect  the  acute  Kensing- 
tonianism  of  Mr.  Marrier's  tones.  "  Is  Miss 
Ra-ose  Euclid  there?  Oh!  She  is?  Well,  you 
tell  her  that  Sir  John  Pilgrim's  private  secretary 
wishes  to  speak  to  her.  Thanks.  All  right.  /'// 
hold  the  line." 

A  pause.  Then  he  heard  Rose's  voice  in  the  tele- 
phone, and  he  resumed: 

"Miss  Euclid?     Yes.     Sir  John  Pilgrim.     I  beg 


134  THE  OLD  ADAM 

pardon  I  Banks?  Oh,  Banks!  No,  I'm  not 
Banks.  I  suppose  you  mean  my  predecessor.  He's 
left.  Left  last  week.  No,  I  don't  know  why. 
Sir  John  instructs  me  to  ask  if  you  and  Mr.  Trent 
could  lunch  with  him  to-morrow  at  wun-thirty? 
What?  Oh!  At  his  house.  Yes.  I  mean  flat. 
Flat  I  I  said  flat.  You  think  you  could?  " 

Pause.  He  could  hear  her  calling  to  Carlo 
Trent. 

"  Thanks.  No,  I  don't  know  exactly,"  he  went 
on  again.  "  But  I  know  the  arrangement  with  Miss 
Pryde  is  broken  off.  And  Sir  John  wants  a  play  at 
once.  He  told  me  that.  At  once  1  Yes.  *  The 
Orient  Pearl.'  That  was  the  title.  At  the  Royal 
first,  and  then  the  world's  tour.  Fifteen  months  at 
least,  in  all,  so  I  gathered.  Of  course  I  don't  speak 
officially.  Well,  many  thanks.  Saoo  good  of  you. 
I'll  tell  Sir  John  it's  arranged.  One-thirty  to-mor- 
row. Good-bye !  " 

He  hung  up  the  telephone.  The  excited,  eager, 
effusive  tones  of  Rose  Euclid  remained  in  his  ears. 
Aware  of  a  strange  phenomenon  on  his  forehead,  he 
touched  it.  He  was  perspiring. 

"  I'll  teach  'em  a  thing  or  two,"  he  muttered. 

And  again: 

"  Serves  her  right.  .  .  .  '  Never,  never  appear  at 
any  other  theatre,  Mr.  Machin!'  .  .  .  'Bended 
knees!'  .  .  .  'Utterly!'  .  .  .  Cheerful  partners! 
Oh,  cheerful  partners !  " 

He  returned  to  his  supper-party.     Nobody  said 


THE  THEATRICAL  WORLD         135 

a  word  about  the  telephoning.  But  Rose  Euclid  and 
Carlo  Trent  looked  even  more  like  conspirators  than 
they  did  before;  and  Mr.  Marrier's  joy  in  life 
seemed  to  be  just  the  least  bit  diminished. 

"So  sorry!"  Edward  Henry  began  hurriedly, 
and,  without  consulting  the  poet's  wishes,  subtly 
turned  on  all  the  lights.  "  Now,  don't  you  think 
we'd  better  discuss  the  question  of  taking  up  the  op- 
tion? You  know,  it  expires  on  Friday." 

"  No,"  said  Rose  Euclid  girlishly.  "  It  expires 
to-morrow.  That's  why  it's  so  fortunate  we  got 
hold  of  you  to-night." 

"  But  Mr.  Bryany  told  me  Friday.  And  the  date 
was  clear  enough  on  the  copy  of  the  option  he  gave 


me." 


"  A  mistake  of  copying,"  beamed  Mr.  Marrier. 
"  However,  it's  all  right." 

"  Well,"  observed  Edward  Henry  with  heartiness, 
"  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  for  sheer  calm  cool- 
ness you  take  the  cake.  However,  as  Mr.  Marrier 
so  ably  says,  it's  all  right.  Now,  I  understand  if  I 
go  into  this  affair  I  can  count  on  you  absolutely,  and 
also  on  Mr.  Trent's  services."  He  tried  to  talk  as 
if  he  had  been  diplomatising  with  actresses  and  poets 
all  his  life. 

"  Absolutely!  "  said  Rose. 

And  Mr.  Carlo  Trent  nodded. 

"  You  Iscariots !  "  Edward  Henry  addressed  them, 
in  the  silence  of  the  brain,  behind  his  smile.  "  You 
Iscariots!  " 


136  THE  OLD  ADAM 

The  photographer  arrived  with  certain  cases,  and 
at  once  Rose  Euclid  and  Carlo  Trent  began  instinc- 
tively to  pose. 

"  To  think,"  Edward  Henry  pleasantly  reflected, 
"  that  they  are  hugging  themselves  because  Sir  John 
Pilgrim's  secretary  happened  to  telephone  just  while 
I  was  out  of  the  room  1  " 


CHAPTER  V 

MR.    SACHS   TALKS 
I. 

IT  was  the  sudden  flash  of  the  photographer's 
magnesium  light,  plainly  felt  by  him  through 
his  closed  lids,  that  somehow  instantly  inspired 
Edward  Henry  to  a  definite  and  ruthless  line  of  ac- 
tion. He  opened  his  eyes  and  beheld  the  triumphant 
group,  and  the  photographer  himself,  victorious 
over  even  the  triumphant,  in  a  superb  pose  that  sug- 
gested that  all  distinguished  mankind  in  his  presence 
was  naught  but  food  for  the  conquering  camera. 
The  photographer  smiled  indulgently,  and  his  smile 
said :  "  Having  been  photographed  by  me,  you 
have  each  of  you  reached  the  summit  of  your  career. 
Be  content.  Retire !  Die !  Destiny  is  accom- 
plished!" 

"  Mr.  Machin,"  said  Rose  Euclid,  "  I  do  believe 
your  eyes  were  shut !  " 

"  So  do  I !  "  Edward  Henry  curtly  agreed. 

"  But  you'll  spoil  the  group !  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it!  "  said  Edward  Henry.  "  I  al- 
ways shut  my  eyes  when  I'm  being  photographed  by 
flash-light.  I  open  my  mouth  instead.  So  long  as 
something's  open,  what  does  it  matter?" 

The  truth  was  that  only  in  the  nick  of  time  had  he, 
137 


138  THE  OLD  ADAM 

by  a  happy  miracle  of  ingenuity,  invented  a  way  of 
ruining  the  photograph.  The  absolute  necessity  for 
its  ruin  had  presented  itself  to  him  rather  late  in  the 
proceedings,  when  the  photographer  had  already 
finished  arranging  the  hands  and  shoulders  of  every- 
body in  an  artistic  pattern.  The  photograph  had 
to  be  spoilt  for  the  imperative  reason  that  his 
mother,  though  she  never  read  a  newspaper,  did  as 
a  fact  look  at  a  picture  newspaper,  The  Daily  Film, 
which  from  pride  she  insisted  on  paying  for  out  of 
her  own  purse,  at  the  rate  of  one  halfpenny  a  day. 
Now  The  Daily  Film  specialised  in  theatrical  pho- 
tographs, on  which  it  said  it  spent  large  sums  of 
money;  and  Edward  Henry  in  a  vision  had  seen  the 
historic  group  in  a  future  issue  of  the  Film.  He 
had  also,  in  the  same  vision,  seen  his  mother  conning 
the  said  issue,  and  the  sardonic  curve  of  her  lips  as 
she  recognised  her  son  therein,  and  he  had  even 
heard  her  dry,  cynical,  contemptuous  exclamation: 
"  Bless  us!  "  He  could  never  have  looked  squarely 
in  his  mother's  face  again  if  that  group  had  ap- 
peared in  her  chosen  organ!  Her  silent  and  grim 
scorn  would  have  crushed  his  self-conceit  to  a  miser- 
able, hopeless  pulp.  Hence  his  resolve  to  render  the 
photograph  impossible. 

"  Perhaps  I'd  better  take  another  one?  "  the  pho- 
tographer suggested.  "  Though  I  think  Mr. —  er  — 
Machin  was  all  right."  At  the  supreme  crisis  the 
man  had  been  too  busy  with  his  fireworks  to  keep 
a  watch  on  every  separate  eye  and  mouth  of  the 
assemblage. 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  139 

"  Of  course  I  was  all  right!  "  said  Edward  Henry, 
almost  with  brutality.  "  Please  take  that  thing 
away  as  quickly  as  you  can.  We  have  business  to 
attend  to." 

'  Yes,  sir,"  agreed  the  photographer,  no  longer 
victorious. 

Edward  Henry  rang  the  bell,  and  two  gentlemen 
in  waiting  arrived. 

"  Clear  this  table  immediately!  " 

The  tone  of  the  command  startled  everybody  ex- 
cept the  gentlemen  in  waiting  and  Mr.  Seven  Sachs. 
Rose  Euclid  gave  vent  to  her  nervous  giggle.  The 
poet  and  Mr.  Marrier  tried  to  appear  detached  and 
dignified,  and  succeeded  in  appearing  guiltily  con- 
fused —  for  which  they  contemned  themselves. 
Despite  their  volition,  the  glances  of  all  three  of 
them  too  clearly  signified:  "This  capitalist  must 
be  humoured.  He  has  an  unlimited  supply  of  ac- 
tual cash,  and  therefore  he  has  the  right  to  be  pe- 
culiar. Moreover,  we  know  that  he  is  a  card.  .  .  . 
And,  curiously,  Edward  Henry  himself  was  deriving 
great  force  of  character  from  the  simple  reflection 
that  he  had  indeed  a  lot  of  money,  real  available 
money,  his  to  do  utterly  as  he  liked  with  it,  hidden 
in  a  secret  place  in  that  very  room.  "  I'll  show  'em 
what's  what!"  he  privately  mused.  "Celebrities 
or  not,  I'll  show  'em !  If  they  think  they  can  come 
it  over  me  —  !  " 

It  was,  I  regret  to  say,  the  state  of  mind  of  a  bully. 
Such  is  the  noxious  influence  of  excessive  coin! 

He  reproached  the  greatest  actress  and  the  great- 


1 40  THE  OLD  ADAM 

est  dramatic  poet  for  deceiving  him,  and  quite  ig- 
nored the  nevertheless  fairly  obvious  fact  that  he 
had  first  deceived  them. 

"  Now  then,"  he  began,  with  something  of  the 
pomposity  of  a  chairman  at  a  directors'  meeting,  as 
soon  as  the  table  had  been  cleared  and  the  room 
emptied  of  gentlemen  in  waiting  and  photographer 
and  photographic  apparatus,  u  let  us  see  exactly 
where  we  stand." 

He  glanced  specially  at  Rose  Euclid,  who  with  an 
air  of  deep  business  acumen  returned  the  glance. 

"  Yes,"  she  eagerly  replied,  as  one  seeking  after 
righteousness,  "  do  let's  see." 

"  The  option  must  be  taken  up  to-morrow. 
Good !  That's  clear.  It  came  rather  casual-like, 
but  it's  now  clear.  £4,500  has  to  be  paid  down  to 
buy  the  existing  building  on  the  land  and  so  on.  .  .  . 
Eh?" 

"  Yes.  Of  course  Mr.  Bryany  told  you  all  that, 
didn't  he?  "  said  Rose  brightly. 

"  Mr.  Bryany  did  tell  me,"  Edward  Henry  ad- 
mitted sternly.  "  But  if  Mr.  Bryany  can  make  a 
mistake  in  the  day  of  the  week  he  might  make  a  mis- 
take in  a  few  naughts  at  the  end  of  a  sum  of  money." 

Suddenly  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  startled  them  all  by 
emerging  from  his  silence  with  the  words : 

"  The  figure  is  O.  K." 

Instinctively  Edward  Henry  waited  for  more ;  but 
no  more  came.  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  was  one  of  those 
rare  and  disconcerting  persons  who  do  not  keep  on 
talking  after  they  have  finished.  He  resumed  his 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  141 

tranquillity,  he  re-entered  into  his  silence,  with  no 
symptom  of  self-consciousness,  entirely  cheerful  and 
at  ease.  And  Edward  Henry  was  aware  of  his 
observant  and  steady  gaze.  Edward  Henry  said 
to  himself:  "This  man  is  expecting  me  to  behave 
in  a  remarkable  way.  Bryany  has  been  telling  him 
all  about  me,  and  he  is  waiting  to  see  if  I  really  am 
as  good  as  my  reputation.  I  have  just  got  to  be  as 
good  as  my  reputation !  "  He  looked  up  at  the 
electric  chandelier,  almost  with  regret  that  it  was  not 
gas.  One  cannot  light  one's  cigarette  by  twisting  a 
hundred-pound  bank-note  and  sticking  it  into  an  elec- 
tric chandelier.  Moreover,  there  were  some  thou- 
sands of  matches  on  the  table.  Still  further,  he  had 
done  the  cigarette-lighting  trick  once  for  all.  A 
first-class  card  must  not  repeat  himself. 

"  This  money,"  Edward  Henry  proceeded,  "  has 
to  be  paid  to  Slossons,  Lord  Woldo's  solicitors,  to- 
morrow, Wednesday,  rain  or  shine?"  He  finished 
the  phrase  on  a  note  of  interrogation,  and  as  no- 
body offered  any  reply,  he  rapped  on  the  table,  and 
repeated,  half  menacingly:  "  Rain  or  shine!  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Rose  Euclid,  leaning  timidly  for- 
ward, and  taking  a  cigarette  from  a  gold  case  that 
lay  on  the  table.  All  her  movements  indicated  an 
earnest  desire  to  be  thoroughly  businesslike. 

"  So  that,  Miss  Euclid,"  Edward  Henry  continued 
impressively  but  with  a  wilful  touch  of  incredulity, 
"  you  are  in  a  position  to  pay  your  share  of  this 
money  to-morrow?" 

"  Certainly!  "  said  Miss  Euclid.     And  it  was  as 


1 42  THE  OLD  ADAM 

if  she  had  said,  aggrieved:  "Can  you  doubt  my 
honour?  " 

"  To-morrow  morning?  " 

"  Ye-es." 

"  That  is  to  say,  to-morrow  morning  you  will 
have  £2,250  in  actual  cash  —  coin,  notes  —  actually 
in  your  possession?  " 

Miss  Euclid's  disengaged  hand  was  feeling  out 
behind  her  again  for  some  surface  upon  which  to  ex- 
press its  emotion  and  hers. 

"  Well  — "  she  stopped,  flushing. 

("  These  people  are  astounding,"  Edward  Henry 
reflected,  like  a  god.  "  She's  not  got  the  money. 
I  knew  it!") 

"  It's  like  this,  Mr.  Machin,"  Marrier  began. 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Marrier,"  Edward  Henry  turned 
on  him,  determined  if  he  could  to  eliminate  the  op- 
timism from  that  beaming  face.  "  Any  friend  of 
Miss  Euclid's  is  welcome  here,  but  you've  already 
talked  about  this  theatre  as  '  ours,'  and  I  just  want 
to  know  where  you  come  in." 

"Where  I  come  in?"  Marrier  smiled,  absolutely 
unperturbed.  "  Miss  Euclid  has  appointed  me  gen- 
eral manajah." 

"  At  what  salary,  if  it  isn't  a  rude  question?  " 

"  Oh !  We  haven't  settled  details  yet.  You  see 
the  theatre  isn't  built  yet." 

"  True !  "  said  Edward  Henry.  "  I  was  forget- 
ting! I  was  thinking  for  the  moment  that  the 
theatre  was  all  ready  and  going  to  be  opened  to- 
morrow night  with  '  The  Orient  Pearl.'  Have  you 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  143 

had  much  experience  of  managing  theatres,  Mr. 
Marrier?  I  suppose  you  have." 

"  Eho,  yes!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Marrier.  "I  be- 
gan life  as  a  lawyah's  clerk,  but  — " 

"  So  did  I,"  Edward  Henry  interjected. 

"How  interesting!"  Rose  Euclid  murmured 
with  fervency,  after  puffing  forth  a  long  shaft  of 
smoke. 

"  However,  I  threw  it  up,"  Marrier  went  on. 

"  I  didn't,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  I  got  thrown 
out!" 

Strange  that  in  that  moment  he  was  positively 
proud  of  having  been  dismissed  from  his  first  situa- 
tion !  Strange  that  all  the  company,  too,  thought 
the  better  of  him  for  having  been  dismissed! 
Strange  that  Marrier  regretted  that  he  also  had  not 
been  dismissed!  But  so  it  was.  The  possession 
of  much  ready  money  emits  a  peculiar  effluence  in 
both  directions  —  back  to  the  past,  forward  into  the 
future. 

"  I  threw  it  up,"  said  Marrier,  "  because  the 
stage  had  an  irresistible  attraction  for  me.  I'd 
been  stage-manajah  for  an  amateur  company,  you 
knaoo.  I  found  a  shop  as  stage-manajah  of  a  com- 
pany touring  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.'  I  stuck  to  that 
for  six  years,  and  then  I  threw  that  up  too.  Then 
I've  managed  one  of  Miss  Euclid's  provincial  tours. 
And  since  I  met  our  friend  Trent,  I've  had  the 
chance  to  show  what  my  ideas  about  play-producing 
really  are.  I  fancy  my  production  of  Trent's  one- 
act  play  won't  be  forgotten  in  a  hurry.  .  .  .  You 


144  THE  OLD  ADAM 

know  — '  The  Nymph  ?  '     You  read  about  it,  didn't 
you?" 

"  I  did  not,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  How  long 
did  it  run?  " 

"  Oh !  it  didn't  run.  It  wasn't  put  on  for  a  run. 
It  was  part  of  one  of  the  Sunday-night  shows  of  the 
Play-Producing  Society,  at  the  Court  Theatre. 
Most  intellectual  people  in  London,  you  know.  No 
such  audience  anywhere  else  in  the  wahld !  "  His 
rather  chubby  face  glistened  and  shimmered  with  en- 
thusiasm. "  You  bet!  "  he  added.  "  But  that  was 
only  by  the  way.  My  real  game  is  management  — 
general  management.  And  I  think  I  may  say  I 
know  what  it  is." 

"  Evidently!  "  Edward  Henry  concurred.  "  But 
shall  you  have  to  give  up  any  other  engagement  in 
order  to  take  charge  of  the  Muses'  Theatre?  Be- 
cause if  so  — " 

Mr.  Marrier  replied: 

11  No." 

Edward  Henry  observed: 

uOh!" 

"  But,"  said  Marrier  reassuringly,  "  if  necessary 
I  would  throw  up  any  engagement  —  you  under- 
stand me,  any  —  in  favour  of  the  Intellectual 
Theatah  as  I  prefer  to  call  it.  You  see,  as  I  own 
part  of  the  option  — " 

By  these  last  words  Edward  Henry  was  con- 
founded, even  to  muteness. 

"  I  forgot  to  mention,  Mr.  Machin,"  said  Rose 
Euclid  very  quickly.  "  I've  disposed  of  a  quarter 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  145 

of  my  half  of  the  option  to  Mr.  Marrier.  He  fully 
agreed  with  me  it  was  better  that  he  should  have  a 
proper  interest  in  the  theatre." 

"  Why  of  course !  "  cried  Mr.  Marrier,  uplifted. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Edward  Henry,  after  a  long 
breath,  "a  quarter  —  that  makes  it  that  you  have 
to  find  £562  IDS,  to-morrow,  Mr.  Marrier." 

"  Yes." 

"To-morrow  morning  —  you'll  be  all  right?" 

"  Well,  I  won't  swear  for  the  morning,  but  I 
shall  turn  up  with  the  stuff  in  the  afternoon  any- 
how. I've  two  men  in  tow,  and  one  of  them's  a  cer- 
tainty." 

"Which?" 

"  I  don't  know  which,"  said  Mr.  Marrier. 
"  Howevah,  you  may  count  on  yours  sincerly,  Mr. 
Machin." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  Rose  Euclid 
smiled,  "  perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Trent 
is  also  one  of  our  partners.  He  has  taken  another 
quarter  of  my  half." 

Edward  Henry  controlled  himself. 

"  Excellent!  "  said  he  with  glee.  "  Mr.  Trent's 
money  all  ready  too?  " 

"  I  am  providing  most  of  it  —  temporarily,"  said 
Rose  Euclid. 

"  I  see.  Then  I  understand  you  have  your  three 
quarters  of  £2,250  all  ready  in  hand." 

She  glanced  at  Mr.  Seven  Sachs. 

"Have  I,  Mr.  Sachs?" 


146  THE  OLD  ADAM 

And  Mr.  Sachs,  after  an  instant's  hesitation, 
bowed  in  assent. 

"  Mr.  Sachs  is  not  exactly  going  into  the  specula- 
tion, but  he  is  lending  us  money  on  the  security  of 
our  interests.  That's  the  way  to  put  it,  isn't  it,  Mr. 
Sachs?" 

Mr.  Sachs  once  more  bowed. 

And  Edward  Henry  exclaimed: 

"  Now  I  really  do  see !  " 

He  gave  one  glance  across  the  table  at  Mr.  Seven 
Sachs,  as  who  should  say:  "And  have  you  too 
allowed  yourself  to  be  dragged  into  this  affair?  I 
really  thought  you  were  cleverer.  Don't  you  agree 
with  me  that  we're  both  fools  of  the  most  arrant 
description?"  And  under  the  brief  glance  Mr. 
Seven  Sachs's  calm  deserted  him  as  it  had  never  de- 
serted him  on  the  stage,  where  for  over  fifteen  hun- 
dred nights  he  had  withstood  the  menace  of  revol- 
vers, poison,  and  female  treachery  through  three 
hours  and  four  acts  without  a  single  moment  of  agi- 
tation. 

Apparently  Miss  Rose  Euclid  could  exercise  a  si- 
ren's charm  upon  nearly  all  sorts  of  men.  But  Ed- 
ward Henry  knew  one  sort  of  men  upon  whom  she 
could  not  exercise  it;  namely,  the  sort  of  men  who 
are  born  and  bred  in  the  Five  Towns.  His  instinc- 
tive belief  in  the  Five  Towns  as  the  sole  cradle  of 
hard  practical  common  sense  was  never  stronger 
than  just  now.  You  might  by  wiles  get  the  better 
of  London  and  America,  but  not  of  the  Five  Towns. 
If  Rose  Euclid  were  to  go  around  and  about  the 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  147 

Five  Towns  trying  to  do  the  siren  business,  she 
would  pretty  soon  discover  that  she  was  up  against 
something  rather  special  in  the  way  of  human  na- 
ture! 

Why,  the  probability  was  that  these  three  —  Rose 
Euclid  (only  a  few  hours  since  a  glorious  name  and 
legend  to  him),  Carlo  Trent,  and  Mr.  Marrier  — 
could  not  at  that  moment  produce  even  ten  pounds 
between  them !  .  .  .  And  Marrier  offering  to  lay 
fivers!  .  .  .  He  scornfully  pitied  them.  And  he 
was  not  altogether  without  pity  for  Seven  Sachs,  who 
had  doubtless  succeeded  in  life  by  sheer  accident  and 
knew  no  more  than  an  infant  what  to  do  with  his 
too  easily  earned  money. 

II. 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  shall  I  tell  you 
what  I've  decided?  " 

"  Please  do!  "  Rose  Euclid  entreated  him. 

"  I've  decided  to  make  you  a  present  of  my  half 
of  the  option." 

"But  aren't  you  going  in  with  us?"  exclaimed 
Rose,  horror-struck. 

"  No,  madam." 

"But  Mr.  Bryany  told  us  positively  you  were! 
He  said  it  was  all  arranged!  " 

"  Mr.  Bryany  ought  to  be  more  careful,"  said 
Edward  Henry.  "  If  he  doesn't  mind,  he'll  be  tell- 
ing a  downright  lie  some  day." 

"  But  you  bought  half  the  option!  " 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  reasoning.    "  What 


i48  THE  OLD  ADAM 

is  an  option?  What  does  it  mean?  It  means  you 
are  free  to  take  something  or  leave  it.  I'm  leav- 
ing it." 

"  But  why?  "  demanded  Mr.  Marrier,  gloomier. 

Carlo  Trent  played  with  his  eye-glasses  and  said 
not  a  word. 

11  Why?  "  Edward  Henry  replied.  "  Simply  be- 
cause I  feel  I'm  not  fitted  for  the  job.  I  don't 
know  enough.  I  don't  understand.  I  shouldn't  go 
the  right  way  about  the  affair.  For  instance,  I 
should  never  have  guessed  by  myself  that  it  was  the 
proper  thing  to  settle  the  name  of  the  theatre  before 
you'd  got  the  lease  of  the  land  you're  going  to  build 
it  on.  Then  I'm  old-fashioned.  I  hate  leaving 
things  to  the  last  moment;  but  seemingly  there's 
only  one  proper  moment  in  these  theatrical  affairs, 
and  that's  the  very  last.  I'm  afraid  there'd  be  too 
much  trusting  in  Providence  for  my  taste.  I  be- 
lieve in  trusting  in  Providence,  but  I  can't  bear  to 
see  Providence  overworked.  And  I've  never  even 
tried  to  be  intellectual,  and  I'm  a  bit  frightened  of 
poetry  plays  — " 

"  But  you've  not  read  my  play !  "  Carlo  Trent 
mutteringly  protested. 

"  That  is  so,"  admitted  Edward  Henry. 

"Will  you  read  it?" 

"  Mr.  Trent,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  I'm  not 
so  young  as  I  was." 

"We're  ruined!"  sighed  Rose  Euclid  with  a 
tragic  gesture. 

"  Ruined?  "  Edward  Henry  took  her  up,  smiling. 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  149 

"  Nobody  is  ruined  who  knows  where  he  can  get  a 
square  meal.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  don't 
know  where  you're  going  to  lunch  to-morrow?" 
And  he  looked  hard  at  her. 

It  was  a  blow.     She  blenched  under  it. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  with  her  giggle,  "  I  know 
that." 

("  Well  you  just  don't  I  "  he  answered  her  in  his 
heart.  "  You  think  you're  going  to  lunch  with  John 
Pilgrim.  And  you  aren't.  And  it  serves  you 
right!") 

"  Besides,"  he  continued  aloud,  "  how  can  you 
say  you're  ruined  when  I'm  making  you  a  present 
of  something  that  I  paid  £100  for?  " 

"  But  where  am  I  to  find  the  other  half  of  the 
money  —  £2,250?"  she  burst  out.  "We  were  de- 
pending absolutely  on  you  for  it.  If  I  don't  get  it, 
the  option  will  be  lost,  and  the  option's  very  val- 
uable." 

"  All  the  easier  to  find  the  money  then !  " 

"What?  In  less  than  twenty-four  hours?  It 
can't  be  done.  I  couldn't  get  it  in  all  London." 

"  Mr.  Marrier  will  get  it  for  you  .  .  .  one  of 
his  certainties ! "  Edward  Henry  smiled  in  the 
Five  Towns'  manner. 

"  I  might,  you  knaoo !  "  said  Marrier,  brightening 
to  full  hope  in  the  fraction  of  a  second. 

But  Rose  Euclid  only  shook  her  head. 

"  Mr.  Seven  Sachs,  then?  "  Edward  Henry  sug- 
gested. 

"  I  should  have  been  delighted,"  said  Mr.  Sachs 


150  THE  OLD  ADAM 

with  the  most  perfect  gracious  tranquillity.  "  But 
I  cannot  find  another  £2,250  to-morrow." 

"I  shall  just  speak  to  that  Mr.  Bryany!"  said 
Rose  Euclid,  in  the  accents  of  homicide. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to,"  Edward  Henry  con- 
curred. "  But  that  won't  help  things.  I  feel  a  little 
responsible,  especially  to  a  lady.  You  have  a  quar- 
ter of  the  whole  option  left  in  your  hands,  Miss 
Euclid.  I'll  pay  you  at  the  same  rate  as  Bryany 
sold  to  me.  I  gave  £100  for  half.  Your  quarter 
is  therefore  worth  £50.  Well,  I'll  pay  you  £50." 

"And  then  what?" 

"  Then  let  the  whole  affair  slide." 

"  But  that  won't  help  me  to  my  theatre !  "  Rose 
Euclid  said,  pouting.  She  was  now  decidedly  less 
unhappy  than  her  face  pretended,  because  Edward 
Henry  had  reminded  her  of  Sir  John  Pilgrim,  and 
she  had  dreams  of  world  triumphs  for  herself  and 
for  Carlo  Trent's  play.  She  was  almost  glad  to 
be  rid  of  all  the  worry  of  the  horrid  little  prospec- 
tive theatre. 

"  I  have  bank-notes,"  cooed  Edward  Henry 
softly. 

Her  head  sank. 

Edward  Henry  rose  in  the  incomparable  yellow 
dressing-gown  and  walked  to  and  fro  a  little,  and 
then  from  his  secret  store  he  produced  a  bundle  of 
notes,  and  counted  out  five  tens  and,  coming  be- 
hind Rose,  stretched  out  his  arm  and  laid  the  treas- 
ure on  the  table  in  front  of  her  under  the  brilliant 
chandelier. 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  151 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  feel  you  have  anything 
against  me,"  he  cooed  still  more  softly. 

Silence  reigned.  Edward  Henry  resumed  his 
chair  and  gazed  at  Rose  Euclid.  She  was  quite  a 
dozen  years  older  than  his  wife,  and  she  looked 
more  than  a  dozen  years  older.  She  had  no  fixed 
home,  no  husband,  no  children,  no  regular  situation. 
She  accepted  the  homage  of  young  men,  who  were 
cleverer  than  herself  save  in  one  important  respect. 
She  was  always  in  and  out  of  restaurants  and  hotels 
and  express  trains.  She  was  always  committing  hy- 
gienic indiscretions.  She  could  not  refrain  from  a 
certain  girlishness  which,  having  regard  to  her  years, 
her  waist,  and  her  complexion,  was  ridiculous.  His 
wife  would  have  been  afraid  of  her,  and  would 
have  despised  her,  simultaneously.  She  was  coars- 
ened by  the  continual  gaze  of  the  gaping  public. 
No  two  women  could  possibly  be  more  utterly  dis- 
similar than  Rose  Euclid  and  the  cloistered  Nellie. 
.  .  .  And  yet,  as  Rose  Euclid's  hesitant  fingers 
closed  on  the  bank-notes  with  a  gesture  of  relief,  Ed- 
ward Henry  had  an  agreeable  and  kindly  sensation 
that  all  women  were  alike,  after  all,  in  the  need 
of  a  shield,  a  protection,  a  strong  and  generous  male 
hand.  He  was  touched  by  the  spectacle  of  Rose 
Euclid,  as  naive  as  any  young  lass  when  confronted 
by  actual  bank-notes;  and  he  was  touched  also  by 
the  thought  of  Nellie  and  the  children  afar  off, 
existing  in  comfort  and  peace,  but  utterly,  wistfully, 
dependent  on  himself. 

"  And  what  about  me?  "  growled  Carlo  Trent. 


152  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"You?" 

The  fellow  was  only  a  poet.  He  negligently 
dropped  him  five  fivers,  his  share  of  the  option's 
value. 

Mr.  Marrier  said  nothing,  but  his  eye  met  Ed- 
ward Henry's,  and  in  silence  five  fivers  were  meted 
out  to  Mr.  Marrier  also.  ...  It  was  so  easy  to 
delight  these  persons  who  apparently  seldom  set  eyes 
on  real  ready  money. 

"  You  might  sign  receipts,  all  of  you,  just  as  a 
matter  of  form,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

A  little  later,  the  three  associates  were  off. 

"  As  we're  both  in  the  hotel,  Mr.  Sachs,"  said  Ed- 
ward Henry,  "  you  might  stay  for  a  chat  and  a 
drink." 

Mr.  Seven  Sachs  politely  agreed. 

Edward  Henry  accompanied  the  trio  of  worship- 
pers and  worshipped  to  the  door  of  his  suite,  but 
no  further,  because  of  his  dressing-gown.  Rose 
Euclid  had  assumed  a  resplendent  opera-cloak. 
They  rang  imperially  for  the  lift.  Lackeys  bowed 
humbly  before  them.  They  spoke  of  taxicabs  and 
other  luxuries.  They  were  perfectly  at  home  in  the 
grandeur  of  the  hotel.  As  the  illuminated  lift  car- 
ried them  down  out  of  sight,  their  smiling  heads 
disappearing  last,  they  seemed  exactly  like  persons 
of  extreme  wealth.  And  indeed  for  the  moment 
they  were  wealthy.  They  had  parted  with  certain 
hopes,  but  they  had  had  a  windfall;  and  two  of 
them  were  looking  forward  with  absolute  assurance 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  153 

to  a  profitable  meal  and  deal  with  Sir  John  Pilgrim 
on  the  morrow. 

"  Funny  place,  London !  "  said  the  provincial  to 
himself  as  he  re-entered  his  suite  to  rejoin  Mr. 
Seven  Sachs. 

III. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Seven  Sachs,  "  I  have  to 
thank  you  for  getting  me  out  of  a  very  unsatisfac- 
tory situation." 

"  Did  you  really  want  to  get  out  of  it?  "  asked 
Edward  Henry. 

Mr.  Sachs  replied  simply. 

"  I  did,  sir.  There  were  too  many  partners  for 
my  taste." 

They  were  seated  more  familiarly  now  in  the 
drawing-room,  being  indeed  separated  only  by  a 
small  table  upon  which  were  glasses.  And  whereas 
on  a  night  in  the  previous  week  Edward  Henry 
had  been  entertained  by  Mr.  Bryany  in  a  private 
parlour  at  the  Turk's  Head,  Hanbridge,  on  this 
night  he  was  in  a  sort  repaying  the  welcome  to  Mr. 
Bryany's  master  in  a  private  parlour  at  Wilkins's, 
London.  The  sole  difference  in  favour  of  Mr. 
Bryany  was  that,  while  Mr.  Bryany  provided 
cigarettes  and  whisky,  Edward  Henry  was  provid- 
ing only  cigarettes  and  Vichy  water.  Mr.  Seven 
Sachs  had  said  that  he  never  took  whisky;  and 
though  Edward  Henry's  passion  for  Vichy  water 
was  not  quite  ungovernable,  he  thought  well  to  give 


154  THE  OLD  ADAM 

rein  to  it  on  the  present  occasion,  having  read 
somewhere  that  Vichy  water  placated  the  stomach. 

Joseph  had  been  instructed  to  retire. 

"  And  not  only  that,"  resumed  Mr.  Seven  Sachs, 
"  but  you've  got  a  very  good  thing  entirely  into  your 
own  hands!  Masterly,  sir!  Masterly!  Why,  at 
the  end  you  positively  had  the  air  of  doing  them  a 
favour!  You  made  them  believe  you  were  doing 
them  a  favour." 

"And  don't  you  think  I  was?" 

Mr.  Sachs  reflected,  and  then  laughed. 

"  You  were,"  he  said.  "  That's  the  beauty  of  it. 
But  at  the  same  time  you  were  getting  away  with 
the  goods ! " 

It  was  by  sheer  instinct,  and  not  by  learning,  that 
Edward  Henry  fully  grasped,  as  he  did,  the  deep 
significance  of  the  American  idiom  employed  by  Mr. 
Seven  Sachs.  He,  too,  laughed,  as  Mr.  Sachs  had 
laughed.  He  was  immeasurably  flattered.  He 
had  not  been  so  flattered  since  the  Countess  of 
Chell  had  permitted  him  to  offer  her  China  tea, 
meringues,  and  Berlin  pancakes  at  the  Sub  Rosa 
tea-rooms  in  Hanbridge  —  and  that  was  a  very  long 
time  ago. 

"  You  really  do  think  it's  a  good  thing?  "  Ed- 
ward Henry  ventured,  for  he  had  not  yet  been  con- 
vinced of  the  entire  goodness  of  theatrical  enterprise 
near  Piccadilly  Circus. 

Mr.  Seven  Sachs  convinced  him  —  not  by  argu- 
ment, but  by  the  sincerity  of  his  gestures  and  tones; 
for  it  was  impossible  to  question  that  Mr.  Seven 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  155 

Sachs  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  The  shape 
of  Mr.  Seven  Sachs'  chin  was  alone  enough  to  prove 
that  Mr.  Sachs  was  incapable  of  a  mere  ignorant 
effervescence.  Everything  about  Mr.  Sachs  was 
persuasive  and  confidence-inspiring.  His  long  si- 
lences had  the  easy  vigour  of  oratory,  and  they 
served  also  to  make  his  speech  peculiarly  impres- 
sive. Moreover,  he  was  a  handsome  and  a  dark 
man,  and  probably  half  a  dozen  years  younger  than 
Edward  Henry.  And  the  discipline  of  lime-light 
had  taught  him  the  skill  to  be  forever  graceful. 
And  his  smile,  rare  enough,  was  that  of  a  boy. 

"  Of  course,"  said  he,  "  if  Miss  Euclid  and  the 
others  had  had  any  sense,  they  might  have  done 
very  well  for  themselves.  If  you  ask  me,  the  op- 
tion alone  is  worth  ten  thousand  dollars.  But  then 
they  haven't  any  sense!  And  that's  all  there  is  to 
it!" 

"  So  you'd  advise  me  to  go  ahead  with  the  affair 
on  my  own?  " 

Mr.  Seven  Sachs,  his  black  eyes  twinkling,  leaned 
forward  and  became  rather  intimately  humorous : 

"  You  look  as  if  you  wanted  advice,  don't  you?  " 
said  he. 

"I  suppose  I  do,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it!" 
agreed  Edward  Henry  with  a  most  admirable  quiz- 
zicalness;  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  not  really 
meant  to  "  go  ahead  with  the  affair,"  being  in  truth 
a  little  doubtful  of  his  capacity  to  handle  it. 

But  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  was,  all  unconsciously,  for- 
cing Edward  Henry  to  believe  in  his  own  capacities; 


156  THE  OLD  ADAM 

and  the  two,  as  it  were,  suddenly  developed  a  more 
cordial  friendliness.  Each  felt  the  quick  lifting  of 
the  plane  of  their  relations,  and  was  aware  of  a 
pleasurable  emotion. 

"  I'm  moving  onwards  —  gently  onwards," 
crooned  Edward  Henry  to  himself.  "  What  price 
Brindley  and  his  half-crown  now?"  Londoners 
might  call  him  a  provincial,  and  undoubtedly  would 
call  him  a  provincial;  he  admitted,  even,  that  he 
felt  like  a  provincial  in  the  streets  of  London. 
And  yet  here  he  was,  "  doing  Londoners  in  the  eye 
all  over  the  place,"  and  receiving  the  open  homage 
of  Mr.  Seven  Sachs,  whose  name  was  the  basis  of 
a  cosmopolitan  legend. 

And  now  he  made  the  cardinal  discovery,  which 
marks  an  epoch  in  the  life  of  every  man  who  arrives 
at  it,  that  world-celebrated  persons  are  very  like 
other  persons.  And  he  was  happy  and  rather  proud 
in  this  discovery,  and  began  to  feel  a  certain  vague 
desire  to  tell  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  the  history  of  his 
career  —  or  at  any  rate  the  picturesque  portions  of 
it.  For  he,  too,  was  famous  in  his  own  sphere; 
and  in  the  drawing-room  of  Wilkins's  one  celebrity 
was  hobnobbing  with  another!  ("  Put  that  in  your 
pipe  and  smoke  it,  Mr.  Brindley!  ")  Yes,  he  was 
happy,  both  in  what  he  had  already  accomplished, 
and  in  the  contemplation  of  romantic  adventures  to 
come. 

And  yet  his  happiness  was  marred  —  not  fatally, 
but  quite  appreciably  —  by  a  remorse  that  no 
amount  of  private  argument  with  himself  would  con- 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  157 

jure  away.  Which  was  the  more  singular  in  that 
a  morbid  tendency  to  remorse  had  never  been  among 
Edward  Henry's  defects !  He  was  worrying,  fool- 
ish fellow,  about  the  false  telephone-call  in  which, 
for  the  purpose  of  testing  Rose  Euclid's  loyalty  to 
the  new  enterprise,  he  had  pretended  to  be  the  new 
private  secretary  of  Sir  John  Pilgrim.  Yet  what 
harm  had  it  done?  And  had  it  not  done  a  lot  of 
good?  Rose  Euclid  and  her  youthful  worshipper 
were  no  worse  off  than  they  had  been  before  being 
victimised  by  the  deceit  of  the  telephone-call.  Prior 
to  the  call  they  had  assumed  themselves  to  be  de- 
prived forever  of  the  benefits  which  association  with! 
Sir  John  Pilgrim  could  offer,  and  as  a  fact  they 
were  deprived  forever  of  such  benefits.  Nothing 
changed  there!  Before  the  call  they  had  had  no 
hope  of  lunching  with  the  enormous  Sir  John  on  the 
morrow,  and  as  a  fact  they  would  not  lunch  with 
the  enormous  Sir  John  on  the  morrow.  Nothing 
changed  there  either!  Again,  in  no  event  would 
Edward  Henry  have  joined  the  trio  in  order  to 
make  a  quartette  in  partnership.  Even  had  he  been 
as  convinced  of  Rose's  loyalty  as  he  was  convinced 
of  her  disloyalty,  he  would  never  have  been  rash 
enough  to  co-operate  with  such  a  crew.  Again,  noth- 
ing changed! 

On  the  other  hand,  he  had  acquired  an  assurance 
of  the  artiste's  duplicity,  which  assurance  had  made 
it  easier  for  him  to  disappoint  her,  while  the  pros- 
pect of  a  business  repast  with  Sir  John  had  helped 
her  to  bear  the  disappointment  as  a  brave  woman 


158  THE  OLD  ADAM 

should.  It  was  true  that  on  the  morrow,  about 
lunch-time,  Rose  Euclid  and  Carlo  Trent  might  have 
to  live  through  a  few  rather  trying  moments,  and 
they  would  certainly  be  very  angry;  but  these  draw- 
backs would  have  been  more  than  compensated  for 
in  advance  by  the  pleasures  of  hope.  And  had  they 
not  between  them  pocketed  seventy-five  pounds 
which  they  had  stood  to  lose? 

Such  reasoning  was  unanswerable,  and  his  remorse 
did  not  attempt  to  answer  it.  His  remorse  was 
not  open  to  reason;  it  was  one  of  those  stupid, 
primitive  sentiments  which  obstinately  persist  in  the 
refined  and  rational  fabric  of  modern  humanity. 

He  was  just  sorry  for  Rose  Euclid. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  did?  "  he  burst  out  con- 
fidentially, and  confessed  the  whole  telephone  trick 
to  Mr.  Seven  Sachs. 

Mr.  Seven  Sachs,  somewhat  to  Edward  Henry's 
surprise,  expressed  high  admiration  of  the  device. 

"A  bit  mean,  though,  don't  you  think?"  Ed- 
ward Henry  protested  weakly. 

"  Not  at  all!  "  cried  Mr.  Sachs.  "You  got  the 
goods  on  her.  And  she  deserved  it." 

(Again  this  enigmatic  and  mystical  word 
"  goods  " !  But  he  understood  it.) 

Thus  encouraged,  he  was  now  quite  determined 
to  give  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  a  brief  episodic  account 
of  his  career.  A  fair  conversational  opening  was 
all  he  wanted  in  order  to  begin. 

"  I  wonder  what  will  happen  to  her  —  ulti- 
mately?" he  said,  meaning  to  work  back  from  the 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  159 

ends  of  careers  to  their  beginnings,  and  so  to  him- 
self. 

"Rose  Euclid?" 

"Yes." 

Mr.  Sachs  shook  his  head  compassionately. 

"  How  did  Mr.  Bryany  get  in  with  her?  "  asked 
Edward  Henry. 

"  Bryany  is  a  highly  peculiar  person,"  said  Mr. 
Seven  Sachs  familiarly.  "  He's  all  right  so  long 
as  you  don't  unstrap  him.  He  was  born  to  convince 
newspaper  reporters  of  his  own  greatness." 

"  I  had  a  bit  of  talk  with  him  myself,"  said  Ed- 
ward Henry. 

"  Oh,  yes !     He  told  me  all  about  you." 

"  But  /  never  told  him  anything  about  myself," 
said  Edward  Henry  quickly. 

"  No,  but  he  has  eyes,  you  know,  and  ears  too. 
Seems  to  me  the  people  of  the  Five  Towns  do  little 
else  of  a  night  but  discuss  you,  Mr.  Machin.  / 
heard  a  good  bit  when  /  was  down  there,  though 
I  don't  go  about  much  when  I'm  on  the  road. 
I  reckon  I  could  write  a  whole  biography  of 
you." 

Edward  Henry  smiled  self-consciously.  He  was 
of  course  enraptured,  but  at  the  same  time  it  was 
disappointing  to  find  Mr.  Sachs  already  so  fully  in- 
formed as  to  the  details  of  his  career.  However, 
he  did  not  intend  to  let  that  prevent  him  from  tell- 
ing the  story  afresh,  in  his  own  manner. 

"  I  suppose  you've  had  your  adventures  too,"  he 
remarked  with  nonchalance,  partly  from  politeness, 


160  THE  OLD  ADAM 

but  mainly  in  order  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  hurry 
in  his  egotism. 

IV. 

"  You  bet  I  have !  "  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  cordially 
agreed,  abandoning  the  end  of  a  cigarette,  putting 
his  hands  behind  his  head,  and  crossing  his  legs. 

Whereupon  there  was  a  brief  pause. 

"I  remember — "  Edward  Henry  began. 

"  I  dare  say  you've  heard  — "  began  Mr.  Seven 
Sachs  simultaneously. 

They  were  like  two  men  who  by  inadvertence  had 
attempted  to  pass  through  a  narrow  doorway 
abreast.  Edward  Henry,  as  the  host,  drew  back. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon!  "  he  apologised. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Seven  Sachs.  "  I  was  only 
going  to  say  you've  probably  heard  that  I  was  al- 
ways up  against  Archibald  Florance." 

"  Really!  "  murmured  Edward  Henry,  impressed 
in  spite  of  himself;  for  the  renown  of  Archibald 
Florance  exceeded  that  of  Seven  Sachs  as  the  sun  the 
moon,  and  was  older  and  more  securely  established 
than  it  as  the  sun  the  moon.  The  renown  of  Rose 
Euclid  was  as  naught  to  it.  Doubtful  it  was 
whether,  in  the  annals  of  modern  histrionics,  the 
grandeur  and  the  romance  of  that  American  name 
could  be  surpassed  by  any  renown  save  that  of  the 
incomparable  Henry  Irving.  The  retirement  of 
Archibald  Florance  from  the  stage  a  couple  of 
years  earlier  had  caused  crimson  gleams  of  sunset 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  161 

splendour  to  shoot  across  the  Atlantic  and  irradiate 
even  the  Garrick  Club,  London,  so  that  the  mem- 
bers thereof  had  to  shade  their  offended  eyes.  Ed- 
ward Henry  had  never  seen  Archibald  Florance, 
but  it  was  not  necessary  to  have  seen  him  in  order 
to  appreciate  the  majesty  of  his  glory.  No  male 
in  the  history  of  the  world  was  ever  more  photo- 
graphed, and  few  have  been  the  subject  of  more 
anecdotes. 

"  I  expect  he's  a  wealthy  chap  in  his  old  age," 
said  Edward  Henry. 

"Wealthy!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sachs.  "He's  the 
richest  actor  in  America,  and  that's  saying  in  the 
world.  He  had  the  greatest  reputation.  He's  still 
the  handsomest  man  in  the  United  States  —  that's 
admitted  —  with  his  white  hair !  They  used  to  say 
he  was  the  cruellest,  but  it's  not  so.  Though  of 
course  he  could  be  a  perfect  terror  with  his  com- 
panies." 

"And  so  you  knew  Archibald  Florance?" 

"  You  bet  I  did.  He  never  had  any  friends  — 
never  —  but  I  knew  him  as  well  as  anybody  could. 
Why,  in  San  Francisco,  after  the  show,  I've  walked 
with  him  back  to  his  hotel,  and  he's  walked  with 
me  back  to  mine,  and  so  on,  and  so  on,  till  three 
or  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  You  see,  we 
couldn't  stop  until  it  happened  that  he  finished  a 
cigar  at  the  exact  moment  when  we  got  to  his  hotel 
door.  If  the  cigar  wasn't  finished,  then  he  must 
needs  stroll  back  a  bit,  and  before  I  knew 


1 62  THE  OLD  ADAM 

I  was  he'd  be  lighting  a  fresh  one.  He  smoked 
the  finest  cigars  in  America.  I  remember  him  tell- 
ing me  they  cost  him  three  dollars  apiece." 

And  Edward  Henry  then  perceived  another  pro- 
found truth,  his  second  cardinal  discovery  on  that 
notable  evening;  namely,  that  no  matter  how  high 
you  rise,  you  will  always  find  that  others  have  risen 
higher.  Nay,  it  is  not  until  you  have  achieved  a 
considerable  peak  that  you  are  able  to  appreciate 
the  loftiness  of  those  mightier  summits.  He  him- 
self was  high,  and  so  he  could  judge  the  greater 
height  of  Seven  Sachs;  and  it  was  only  through  the 
greater  height  of  Seven  Sachs  that  he  could  form 
an  adequate  idea  of  the  pinnacle  occupied  by  the 
unique  Archibald  Florance.  Honestly,  he  had 
never  dreamt  that  there  existed  a  man  who  habitually 
smoked  twelve-shilling  cigars  —  and  yet  he  reckoned 
to  know  a  thing  or  two  about  cigars  I 

"  I  am  nothing  1  "  he  thought  modestly.  Never- 
theless, though  the  savour  of  the  name  of  Archi- 
bald Florance  was  agreeable,  he  decided  that  he  had 
heard  enough  for  the  moment  about  Archibald 
Florance,  and  that  he  would  relate  to  Mr.  Sachs 
the  famous  episode  of  his  own  career  in  which  the 
Countess  of  Chell  and  a  mule  had  so  prominently 
performed. 

"  I  remember  — "  he  recommenced. 

"  My  first  encounter  with  Archibald  Florance  was 
very  funny,"  proceeded  Mr.  Seven  Sachs,  blandly 
deaf.  "  I  was  starving  in  New  York, —  trying  to 
sell  a  new  razor  on  commission, —  and  I  was  de- 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  163 

termined  to  get  on  to  the  stage.  I  had  one  visit- 
ing card  left  —  just  one.  I  wrote  '  Important'  on 
it,  and  sent  it  up  to  Wunch.  I  don't  know  whether 
you've  ever  heard  of  Wunch.  Wunch  was  Archi- 
bald Florance's  stage-manager,  and  nearly  as  famous 
as  Archibald  himself.  Well,  Wunch  sent  for  me 
up-stairs  to  his  room,  but  when  he  found  I  was  only 
the  usual  youngster  after  the  usual  job  he  just  had 
me  thrown  out  of  the  theatre.  He  said  I'd  no 
right  to  put  *  Important '  on  a  visiting  card.  *  Well,' 
I  said  to  myself,  '  I'm  going  to  get  back  into  that 
theatre  somehow!  '  So  I  went  up  to  Archibald's 
private  house  —  Sixtieth  Street  I  think  it  was,  and 
asked  to  see  him,  and  I  saw  him.  When  I  got 
into  his  room,  he  was  writing.  He  kept  on  writing 
for  some  minutes,  and  then  he  swung  round  on  his 
chair. 

"  '  And  what  can  I  do  for  you,  sir?  '  he  said. 

"'Do  you  want  any  actors,  Mr.  Florance?'  I 
said. 

"  *  Are  you  an  actor?  '  he  said. 

"  '  I  want  to  be  one,'  I  said. 

" '  Well,'  he  said,  '  there's  a  school  round  the 
corner.' 

"  '  Well,'  I  said,  *  you  might  give  me  a  card  of 
introduction,  Mr.  Florance.' 

"  He  gave  me  the  card.  I  didn't  take  it  to  the 
school.  I  went  straight  back  to  the  theatre  with  it, 
and  had  it  sent  up  to  Wunch.  It  just  said,  '  Intro- 
ducing Mr.  Sachs,  a  young  man  anxious  to  get  on.' 
Wunch  took  it  for  a  positive  order  to  find  me  a 


1 64  THE  OLD  ADAM 

place.  The  company  was  full,  so  he  threw  out  one 
poor  devil  of  a  super  to  make  room  for  me.  Curi- 
ous thing  —  old  Wunchy  got  it  into  his  head  that 
I  was  a  protege  of  Archibald's,  and  he  always  looked 
after  me.  What  d'ye  think  about  that?  " 

"  Brilliant!  "  said  Edward  Henry.  And  it  was! 
The  simplicity  of  the  thing  was  what  impressed  him. 
Since  winning  a  scholarship  at  school  by  altering  the 
number  of  marks  opposite  his  name  on  a  paper  ly- 
ing on  the  master's  desk,  Edward  Henry  had  never 
achieved  advancement  by  a  device  so  simple.  And 
he  thought:  "I  am  nothing!  The  Five  Towns 
is  nothing !  All  that  one  hears  about  Americans  and 
the  United  States  is  true.  As  far  as  getting  on 
goes,  they  can  make  rings  round  us.  Still,  I  shall 
tell  him  about  the  countess  and  the  mule  — " 

"  Yes,"  continued  Mr.  Seven  Sachs,  "  Wunch  was 
very  kind  to  me.  But  he  was  pretty  well  down  and 
out,  and  he  left,  and  Archibald  got  a  new  stage- 
manager,  and  I  was  promoted  to  do  a  bit  of  as- 
sistant stage-managing.  But  I  got  no  increase  of 
salary.  There  were  two  women  stars  in  the  play 
Archibald  was  doing  then  — l  The  Forty-Niners.' 
Romantic  drama,  you  know!  Melodrama  you'd 
call  it  over  here.  He  never  did  any  other  sort  of 
play.  Well,  these  two  women  stars  were  about 
equal,  and  when  the  curtain  fell  on  the  first  act 
they'd  both  make  a  bee-line  for  Archibald  to  see 
who'd  get  to  him  first  and  engage  him  in  talk.  They 
were  jealous  enough  of  each  other  to  kill.  Any- 
body could  see  that  Archibald  was  frightfully  bored. 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  165 

but  he  couldn't  escape.  They  got  him  on  both  sides, 
you  see,  and  he  just  had  to  talk  to  'em,  both  at  once. 
I  used  to  be  fussing  around  fixing  the  properties 
for  the  next  act.  Well,  one  night  he  comes  up  to 
me,  Archibald  does,  and  he  says: 

"  '  Mr.  —  what's  your  name?  ' 

"  '  Sachs,  sir,'  I  says. 

"  '  You  notice  when  those  two  ladies  come  up  to 
me  after  the  first  act.  Well,  when  you  see  them 
talking  to  me,  I  want  you  to  come  right  along  and 
interrupt,'  he  says. 

"'What  shall  I  say,  sir?' 

"  '  Tap  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  say  I'm  wanted 
about  something  very  urgent.  You  see?' 

"  So  the  next  night  when  those  women  got  hold 
of  him,  sure  enough,  I  went  up  between  them  and 
tapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  *  Mr.  Florance,'  I 
said,  '  something  very  urgent.'  He  turned  on  me 
and  scowled:  '  What  is  it? '  he  said,  and  he  looked 
very  angry.  It  was  a  bit  of  the  best  acting  the  old 
man  ever  did  in  his  life.  It  was  so  good  that  at 
first  I  thought  it  was  real.  He  said  again  louder, 
1  What  is  it?  '  So  I  said,  '  Well,  Mr.  Florance,  the 
most  urgent  thing  in  this  theatre  is  that  I  should  have 
an  increase  in  salary!'  I  guess  I  licked  the  stuf- 
fing out  of  him  that  time." 

Edward  Henry  gave  vent  to  one  of  those  cordial 
and  violent  guffaws  which  are  a  specialty  of  the 
humorous  side  of  the  Five  Towns.  And  he  said  to 
himself:  "  I  should  never  have  thought  of  any- 
thing as  good  as  that." 


1 66  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  And  did  you  get  it?  "  he  asked. 
1  The  old  man  said  not  a  word,"  Mr.  Seven 
Sachs  went  on  in  the  same  even  tranquil  smiling 
voice.  "  But  next  pay-day  I  found  I'd  got  a  rise  of 
ten  dollars  a  week.  And  not  only  that,  but  Mr. 
Florance  offered  me  a  singing  part  in  his  new 
drama,  if  I  could  play  the  mandolin.  I  naturally 
told  him  I'd  played  the  mandolin  all  my  life.  I 
went  out  and  bought  a  mandolin  and  hired  a  teacher. 
He  wanted  to  teach  me  the  mandolin,  but  I  only 
wanted  him  to  teach  me  that  one  accompaniment. 
So  I  fired  him,  and  practised  by  myself  night  and 
day  for  a  week.  I  got  through  all  the  rehearsals 
without  ever  singing  that  song.  Cleverest  dodging 
I  ever  did!  On  the  first  night  I  was  so  nervous  I 
could  scarcely  hold  the  mandolin.  I'd  never  played 
the  infernal  thing  before  anybody  at  all  —  only  up 
in  my  bedroom.  I  struck  the  first  chord,  and  found 
the  darned  instrument  was  all  out  of  tune  with  the 
orchestra.  So  I  just  pretended  to  play  it,  and 
squawked  away  with  my  song,  and  never  let  my 
fingers  touch  the  strings  at  all.  Old  Florance  was 
waiting  for  me  in  the  wings.  I  knew  he  was  going 
to  fire  me.  But  no  I  '  Sachs,'  he  said,  *  that  ac- 
companiment was  the  most  delicate  piece  of  playing 
I  ever  heard.  I  congratulate  you.'  He  was  quite 
serious.  Everybody  said  the  same!  Luck,  eh?" 

"  I  should  say  so,"  said  Edward  Henry,  gradu- 
ally beginning  to  be  interested  in  the  odyssey  of 
Mr.  Seven  Sachs.  "  I  remember  a  funny  thing  that 
happened  to  me  — " 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  167 

"  However,"  Mr.  Sachs  swept  smoothly  along, 
"  that  piece  was  a  failure.  And  Archibald  arranged 
to  take  a  company  to  Europe  with  '  Forty-Niners.' 
And  I  was  left  out!  This  rattled  me,  specially 
after  the  way  he  liked  my  mandolin-playing.  So 
I  went  to  see  him  about  it  in  his  dressing-room  one 
night,  and  I  charged  around  a  bit.  He  did  rattle 
me !  Then  I  rattled  him.  I  would  get  an  answer 
out  of  him.  He  said: 

"  '  I'm  not  in  the  habit  of  being  cross-examined 
in  my  own  dressing-room.' 

"  I  didn't  care  what  happened  then,  so  I  said: 

"  *  And  I'm  not  in  the  habit  of  being  treated  as 
you're  treating  me.' 

"  All  of  a  sudden  he  became  quite  quiet,  and 
patted  me  on  the  shoulder.  '  You're  getting  on  very 
well,  Sachs,'  he  said.  '  You've  only  been  at  it  one 
year.  It's  taken  me  twenty-five  years  to  get  where 
lam/ 

"  However,  I  was  too  angry  to  stand  for  that  sort 
of  talk.  I  said  to  him: 

"  '  I  dare  say  you're  a  very  great  and  enviable 
man,  Mr.  Florance,  but  I  propose  to  save  fifteen 
years  on  your  twenty-five.  I'll  equal  or  better  your 
position  in  ten  years.' 

"  He  shoved  me  out  —  just  shoved  me  out  of  the 
room.  ...  It  was  that  that  made  me  turn  to  play- 
writing.  Florance  wrote  his  own  plays  sometimes, 
but  it  was  only  his  acting  and  his  face  that  saved 
them.  And  they  were  too  American.  He  never 
did  really  well  outside  America  except  in  one  play. 


1 68  THE  OLD  ADAM 

and  that  wasn't  his  own.  Now,  I  was  out  after 
money.  And  I  still  am.  I  wanted  to  please  the 
largest  possible  public.  So  I  guessed  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  the  universal  appeal.  I  never 
write  a  play  that  won't  appeal  to  England,  Germany, 
France,  just  as  well  as  to  America.  America's  big, 
but  it  isn't  big  enough  for  me.  .  .  .  Well,  as  I  was 
saying,  soon  after  that  I  got  a  one-act  play  pro- 
duced at  Hannibal,  Missouri.  And  the  same  week 
there  was  a  company  at  another  theatre  there  play- 
ing the  old  man's  *  Forty-Niners.'  And  the  next 
morning  the  theatrical  critic's  article  in  the  Hanni- 
bal Courier-Post  was  headed:  'Rival  attractions. 
Archibald  Florance's  "  Forty-Niners  "  and  new  play 
by  Seven  Sachs.'  I  cut  that  heading  out  and  sent 
it  to  the  old  man  in  London,  and  I  wrote  under  it, 
1  See  how  far  I've  got  in  six  months.'  When  he 
came  back  he  took  me  into  his  company  again.  .  .  . 
What  price  that,  eh?  " 

Edward  Henry  could  only  nod  his  head.  The 
customarily  silent  Seven  Sachs  had  little  by  little  sub- 
dued him  to  an  admiration  as  mute  as  it  was  pro- 
found. 

"  Nearly  five  years  after  that  I  got  a  Christmas 
card  from  old  Florance.  It  had  the  usual  printed 
wishes, — '  Merriest  possible  Christmas,  and  so  on,' 
—  but  underneath  that  Archibald  had  written  in 
pencil,  '  You've  still  five  years  to  go.'  That  made 
me  roll  my  sleeves  up,  as  you  may  say.  Well,  a 
long  time  after  that  I  was  standing  at  the  corner  of 
Broadway  and  Forty-fourth  Street,  and  looking  at 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  169 

my  own  name  in  electric  letters  on  the  Criterion 
Theatre.  First  time  I'd  ever  seen  it  in  electric  let- 
ters on  Broadway.  It  was  the  first  night  of 
*  Overheard.'  Florance  was  playing  at  the  Hud- 
son Theatre,  which  is  a  bit  higher  up  Forty-fourth 
Street,  and  his  name  was  in  electric  letters  too,  but 
further  off  Broadway  than  mine.  I  strolled  up,  just 
out  of  idle  curiosity,  and  there  the  old  man  was 
standing  in  the  porch  of  the  theatre,  all  alone! 
'  Hullo,  Sachs,'  he  said,  '  I'm  glad  I've  seen  you. 
It's  saved  me  twenty-five  cents.'  I  asked  how.  He 
said,  '  I  was  just  going  to  send  you  a  telegram  of 
congratulations.'  He  liked  me,  old  Archibald  did. 
He  still  does.  But  I  hadn't  done  with  him.  I  went 
to  stay  with  him  at  his  house  on  Long  Island  in 
the  spring.  '  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Florance,'  I  says  to 
him.  '  How  many  companies  have  you  got  on  the 
road?  '  He  said,  '  Oh!  I  haven't  got  many  now. 
Five,  I  think.'  '  Well,'  I  says.  '  I've  got  six  here 
in  the  United  States,  two  in  England,  three  in  Aus- 
tria, and  one  in  Italy.'  He  said,  '  Have  a  cigar, 
Sachs;  you've  got  the  goods  on  me!  '  He  was  liv- 
ing in  that  magnificent  house  all  alone,  with  a  whole 
regiment  of  servants." 

V. 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  you're  a  great 
man!" 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  said  Mr.  Seven  Sachs.  "  But  my 
income  is  four  hundred  thousand  dollars  a  year,  and 
rising.  I'm  out  after  the  stuff,  that's  all." 


i  yo  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  I  say  you  are  a  great  man !  "  Edward  Henry 
repeated.  Mr.  Sachs'  recital  had  inspired  him. 
He  kept  saying  to  himself:  "And  I'm  a  great 
man  too.  And  I'll  show  'em." 

Mr.  Sachs,  having  delivered  himself  of  his  load, 
had  now  lapsed  comfortably  back  into  his  original 
silence,  and  was  prepared  to  listen.  But  Edward 
Henry  somehow  had  lost  the  desire  to  enlarge  on 
his  own  variegated  past.  He  was  absorbed  in  the 
greater  future. 

At  length  he  said  very  distinctly: 

"  You  honestly  think  I  could  run  a  theatre?" 

"  You  were  born  to  run  a  theatre,"  said  Seven 
Sachs. 

Thrilled,  Edward  Henry  responded: 

"  Then  I'll  write  to  those  lawyer  people,  Slossons, 
and  tell  'em  I'll  be  around  with  the  brass  about 
eleven  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Sachs  rose.  A  clock  had  delicately  chimed 
two. 

"  If  ever  you  come  to  New  York,  and  I  can  do 
anything  for  you  — "  said  Mr.  Sachs  heartily. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Edward  Henry.  They  were 
shaking  hands.  "  I  say,"  Edward  Henry  went  on, 
"  there's  one  thing  I  want  to  ask  you.  Why  did 
you  promise  to  back  Rose  Euclid  and  her  friends? 
You  must  surely  have  known  — "  He  threw  up  his 
hands. 

Mr.  Sachs  answered: 

"  I'll  be  frank  with  you.  It  was  her  cousin  that 
persuaded  me  into  it  —  Elsie  April." 


MR.  SACHS  TALKS  171 

"Elsie  April?     Who's  she?" 

"  Oh  I  You  must  have  seen  them  about  together 
—  her  and  Rose  Euclid.  They're  nearly  always  to- 
gether." 

"  I  saw  her  in  the  restaurant  here  to-day  with  a 
rather  jolly  girl  —  blue  hat." 

"  That's  the  one.  As  soon  as  you've  made  her 
acquaintance  you'll  understand  what  I  mean,"  said 
Mr.  Seven  Sachs. 

"Ah!  But  I'm  not  a  bachelor  like  you,"  Ed- 
ward Henry  smiled  archly. 

"  Well,  you'll  see  when  you  meet  her,"  said  Mr. 
Sachs.  Upon  which  enigmatic  warning  he  departed, 
and  was  lost  in  the  immense  glittering  nocturnal  si- 
lence of  Wilkins's. 

Edward  Henry  sat  down  to  write  to  Slossons  by 
the  three  A.  M.  post.  But  as  he  wrote  he  kept  say- 
ing to  himself:  "  So  Elsie  April's  her  name,  is  it? 
And  she  actually  persuaded  Sachs  —  Sachs  —  to 
make  a  fool  of  himself!  " 


CHAPTER  VI 

LORD  WOLDO   AND   LADY   WOLDO 
I. 

THE  next  morning  Joseph,  having  opened 
wide  the  window,  informed  his  master  that 
the  weather  was  bright  and  sunny,  and  Ed- 
ward Henry  arose  with  just  that  pleasant  degree 
of  fatigue  which  persuades  one  that  one  is,  if  any- 
thing, rather  more  highly  vitalised  than  usual.  He 
sent  for  Mr.  Bryany,  as  for  a  domestic  animal,  and 
Mr.  Bryany,  ceremoniously  attired,  was  received  by 
a  sort  of  jolly  king  who  happened  to  be  trimming 
his  beard  in  the  royal  bathroom,  but  who  was  too 
good-natured  to  keep  Mr.  Bryany  waiting.  It  is 
remarkable  how  the  habit  of  royalty,  having  once 
taken  root,  will  flourish  in  the  minds  of  quite  un- 
monarchical  persons.  Edward  Henry  first  enquired 
after  the  health  of  Mr.  Seven  Sachs,  and  then  ob- 
tained from  Mr.  Bryany  all  remaining  papers  and 
trifles  of  information  concerning  the  affair  of  the 
option.  Whereupon  Mr.  Bryany,  apparently  much 
elated  by  the  honour  of  an  informal  reception,  ef- 
fusively retired.  And  Edward  Henry  too  was  so 
elated,  and  his  faith  in  life  so  renewed  and  in- 
vigorated that  he  said  to  himself: 

172 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     173 

"  It  might  be  worth  while  to  shave  my  beard  off 
after  all !  " 

As  in  his  electric  brougham  he  drove  along  muddy 
and  shining  Piccadilly,  he  admitted  that  Joseph's  ac- 
count of  the  weather  had  been  very  accurate.  The 
weather  was  magnificent;  it  presented  the  best  fea- 
tures of  summer  combined  with  the  salutary  pun- 
gency of  autumn.  And  flags  were  flying  over  the 
establishments  of  tobacconists,  soothsayers,  and  in- 
surance companies  in  Piccadilly.  And  the  sense  of 
empire  was  in  the  very  air,  like  an  intoxication. 
And  there  was  no  place  like  London.  When,  how- 
ever, having  run  through  Piccadilly  into  streets  less 
superb,  he  reached  the  Majestic,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  Majestic  was  not  a  part  of  London,  but  a 
bit  of  the  provinces  surrounded  by  London.  He 
was  very  disappointed  with  the  Majestic,  and  took 
his  letters  from  the  clerk  with  careless  condescen- 
sion. In  a  few  days  the  Majestic  had  sunk  from 
being  one  of  "  London's  huge  caravanserais  "  to  the 
level  of  a  swollen  Turk's  Head.  So  fragile  are  repu- 
tations ! 

From  the  Majestic,  Edward  Henry  drove  back 
into  the  regions  of  Empire,  between  Piccadilly  and 
Regent  Street,  and  deigned  to  call  upon  his  tailors. 
A  morning  suit  which  he  had  commanded  being 
miraculously  finished,  he  put  it  on,  and  was  at  once 
not  only  spectacularly  but  morally  regenerated. 
The  old  suit,  though  it  had  cost  five  guineas  in  its 
time,  looked  a  paltry  and  a  dowdy  thing  as  it  lay, 
flung  down  anyhow,  on  one  of  Messrs.  Quayther  and 


174  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Cuthering's  cane  chairs  in  the  mirrored  cubicle  where 
baronets  and  even  peers  showed  their  braces  to  the 
benign  Mr.  Cuthering. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  Piccadilly  Circus  now.  Stop  at 
the  fountain,"  said  Edward  Henry  to  his  chauffeur. 
He  gave  the  order  somewhat  defiantly,  because  he 
was  a  little  self-conscious  in  the  new  and  gleaming 
suit,  and  because  he  had  an  absurd  idea  that  the 
chauffeur  might  guess  that  he,  a  provincial  from 
the  Five  Towns,  was  about  to  venture  into  West 
End  theatrical  enterprise,  and  sneer  at  him  accord- 
ingly. 

But  the  chauffeur  merely  touched  his  cap  with  an 
indifferent  lofty  gesture,  as  if  to  say: 

"  Be  at  ease.  I  have  driven  more  persons  more 
moonstruck  even  than  you.  Human  eccentricity  has 
long  since  ceased  to  surprise  me." 

The  fountain  in  Piccadilly  Circus  was  the  gayest 
thing  in  London.  It  mingled  the  fresh  tingling  of 
water  with  the  odour  and  flame  of  autumn  blossoms 
and  the  variegated  colours  of  shawled  women  who 
passed  their  lives  on  its  margin  engaged  in  the  com- 
merce of  flowers.  Edward  Henry  bought  an  aster 
from  a  fine,  bold,  red-cheeked,  blowsy,  dirty  wench 
with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  and  left  some  change  for 
the  baby.  He  was  in  a  very  tolerant  and  charitable 
mood,  and  could  excuse  the  sins  and  the  stupidity 
of  all  mankind.  He  reflected  forgivingly  that 
Rose  Euclid  and  her  friends  had  perhaps  not  dis- 
played an  abnormal  fatuity  in  discussing  the  name 
of  the  theatre  before  they  had  got  the  lease  of  the 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     175 

site  for  it.  Had  not  he  himself  bought  all  the  op- 
tion without  having  even  seen  the  site?  The  fact 
was  that  he  had  had  no  leisure  in  his  short  royal 
career  for  such  details  as  seeing  the  site.  He  was 
now  about  to  make  good  the  omission. 

It  is  a  fact  that  as  he  turned  northward  from 
Piccadilly  Circus,  to  the  right  of  the  County  Fire 
Office,  in  order  to  spy  out  the  land  upon  which  his 
theatre  was  to  be  built,  he  hesitated,  under  the 
delusion  that  all  the  passers-by  were  staring  at  him ! 
He  felt  just  as  he  might  have  felt  had  he  been  en- 
gaged upon  some  scheme  nefarious.  He  even  went 
back  and  pretended  to  examine  the  windows  of  the 
County  Fire  Office.  Then,  glancing  self-consciously 
about,  he  discerned  —  not  unnaturally  —  the  words 
"  Regent  Street "  on  a  sign. 

"  There  you  are !  "  he  murmured  with  a  thrill. 
"  There  you  are !  There's  obviously  only  one  name 
for  that  theatre  — *  The  Regent.'  It's  close  to 
Regent  Street.  No  other  theatre  is  called  '  The 
Regent.'  Nobody  before  ever  had  the  idea  of 
*  Regent '  as  a  name  for  a  theatre.  *  Muses  '  in- 
deed! .  .  .  'Intellectual!'  .  .  .  'The  Regent  The- 
atre !  '  How  well  it  comes  off  the  tongue !  It's 
a  great  name!  It'll  be  the  finest  name  of  any  the- 
atre in  London!  And  it  took  yours  truly  to  think 
of  it!" 

Then  he  smiled  privately  at  his  own  weakness. 
.  .  .  He  too,  like  the  despised  Rose,  was  baptising 
the  unborn !  Still,  he  continued  to  dream  of  the 
theatre,  and  began  to  picture  to  himself  the  ideal 


176  THE  OLD  ADAM 

theatre.  He  discovered  that  he  had  quite  a  num- 
ber of  startling  ideas  about  theatre-construction, 
based  on  his  own  experience  as  a  playgoer. 

When,  with  new  courage,  he  directed  his  feet  to- 
wards the  site,  upon  which  he  knew  there  was  an 
old  chapel  known  as  Queen's  Glasshouse  Chapel, 
whose  ownership  had  slipped  from  the  nerveless 
hand  of  a  dying  sect  of  dissenters,  he  could  not 
find  the  site,  and  he  could  not  see  the  chapel.  For 
an  instant  he  was  perturbed  by  a  horrid  suspicion 
that  he  had  been  victimised  by  a  gang  of  swindlers 
posing  as  celebrated  persons.  Everything  was  pos- 
sible in  this  world  and  century.  None  of  the  peo- 
ple who  had  appeared  in  the  transaction  had  re- 
sembled his  previous  conceptions  of  such  people! 
And  confidence-thieves  always  operated  in  the 
grandest  hotels!  He  immediately  decided  that  if 
the  sequel  should  prove  him  to  be  a  simpleton  and 
gull  he  would  at  any  rate  be  a  silent  simpleton  and 
gull.  He  would  stoically  bear  the  loss  of  two 
hundred  pounds,  and  breathe  no  word  of  woe. 

But  then  he  remembered  with  relief  that  he  had 
genuinely  recognised  both  Rose  Euclid  and  Seven 
Sachs;  and  also  that  Mr.  Bryany,  among  other 
documents,  had  furnished  him  with  a  photograph 
of  the  chapel  and  surrounding  property.  The 
chapel  therefore  existed.  He  had  a  plan  in  his 
pocket.  He  now  opened  this  plan  and  tried  to 
consult  it  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  but  his  agita- 
tion was  such  that  he  could  not  make  out  on  it 
which  was  north  and  which  was  south.  After  he 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     177 

had  been  nearly  prostrated  by  a  taxicab,  a  policeman 
came  up  to  him  and  said  with  all  the  friendly  disdain 
of  a  London  policeman  addressing  a  provincial: 

"  Safer  to  look  at  that  on  the  pavement,  sirl  " 

Edward  Henry  glanced  up  from  the  plan. 

"  I  was  trying  to  find  the  Queen's  Glasshouse 
Chapel,  Officer,"  said  he.  "  Have  you  ever  heard 
of  it?  "  (In  Bursley,  members  of  the  town  council 
always  flattered  members  of  the  force  by  addressing 
them  as  "Officer";  and  Edward  Henry  knew  ex- 
actly the  effective  intonation.) 

"  It  was  there,  sir,"  said  the  policeman,  less  dis- 
dainful, pointing  to  a  narrow  hoarding  behind  which 
could  be  seen  the  back  walls  of  high  buildings  in 
Shaftesbury  Avenue.  "  They've  just  finished  pull- 
ing it  down." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Edward  Henry  quietly,  with 
a  superb  and  successful  effort  to  keep  as  much  colour 
in  his  face  as  if  the  policeman  had  not  dealt  him  a 
dizzying  blow. 

He  then  walked  towards  the  hoarding,  but  could 
scarcely  feel  the  ground  under  his  feet.  From  a 
wide  aperture  in  the  palisades  a  cartful  of  earth 
was  emerging;  it  creaked  and  shook  as  it  was 
dragged  by  a  labouring  horse  over  loose  planks  into 
the  roadway;  a  whip-cracking  carter  hovered  on  its 
flank.  Edward  Henry  approached  the  aperture  and 
gazed  within.  An  elegant  young  man  stood  solitary 
inside  the  hoarding  and  stared  at  a  razed  expanse 
of  land  in  whose  furthest  corner  some  navvies  were 
digging  a  hole.  .  .  . 


178  THE  OLD  ADAM 

The  site! 

But  what  did  this  sinister  destructive  activity 
mean?  Nobody  was  entitled  to  interfere  with 
property  on  which  he,  Alderman  Machin,  held  an 
unexpired  option !  But  was  it  the  site  ?  He 
perused  the  plan  again  with  more  care.  Yes,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  site.  His  eye 
roved  round,  and  he  admitted  the  justice  of  the 
boast  that  an  electric  sign  displayed  at  the  southern 
front  corner  of  the  theatre  would  be  visible  from 
Piccadilly  Circus,  lower  Regent  Street,  Shaftesbury 
Avenue,  etc.  He  then  observed  a  large  notice- 
board,  raised  on  posts  above  the  hoardings,  and 
read  the  following: 

Site 
of  the 

First  New  Thought  Church 
to  be  opened  next  Spring. 
Subscriptions  invited. 

Rollo  Wrissell,  Senior  Trustee. 
Ralph  Alloy  d,  Architect. 
Dicks  and  Pato,  Builders. 

The  name  of  Rollo  Wrissell  seemed  familiar  to 
him,  and  after  a  few  moments'  searching  he  recalled 
that  Rollo  Wrissell  was  one  of  the  trustees  and 
executors  of  the  late  Lord  Woldo,  the  other  being 
the  widow,  and  the  mother  of  the  new  Lord  Woldo. 
In  addition  to  the  lettering,  the  notice-board  held 
a  graphic  representation  of  the  First  New  Thought 
Church  as  it  would  be  when  completed. 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO  179 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  not  perhaps  un- 
justifiably, "this  really  is  a  bit  thick!  Here  I've 
got  an  option  on  a  plot  of  land  for  building  a  the- 
atre, and  somebody  else  has  taken  it  to  put  up  a 
church!" 

He  ventured  inside  the  hoarding,  and,  addressing 
the  elegant  young  man,  asked: 

"  You  got  anything  to  do  with  this,  Mister?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  young  man,  smiling  humor- 
ously, "  I'm  the  architect.  It's  true  that  nobody 
ever  pays  any  attention  to  an  architect  in  these  days." 

"Oh!     You're  Mr.  Alloyd?" 

"  I  am." 

Mr.  Alloyd  had  black  hair,  intensely  black, 
changeful  eyes,  and  the  expressive  mouth  of  an 
actor. 

"  I  thought  they  were  going  to  build  a  theatre 
here,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

"  I  wish  they  had  been  1  "  said  Mr.  Alloyd.  "  I'd 
just  like  to  design  a  theatre !  But  of  course  I  shall 
never  get  the  chance." 

"Why  not?" 

41 1  know  I  sha'n't,"  Mr.  Alloyd  insisted  with 
gloomy  disgust.  "  Only  obtained  this  job  by  sheer 
accident!  .  .  .  You  got  any  ideas  about  theatres?" 

11  Well,  I  have,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

Mr.  Alloyd  turned  on  him  with  a  sardonic  and 
half-benevolent  gleam. 

"And  what  are  your  ideas  about  theatres?" 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  I  should  like  to 
meet  an  architect  who  had  thoroughly  got  it  into  his 


i8o  THE  OLD  ADAM 

head  that  when  people  pay  for  seats  to  see  a  play 
they  want  to  be  able  to  see  it,  and  not  just  get  a 
look  at  it  now  and  then  over  other  people's  heads 
and  round  corners  of  boxes  and  things.  In  most 
theatres  that  I've  been  in,  the  architects  seemed  to 
think  that  iron  pillars  and  wooden  heads  are  trans- 
parent. Either  that,  or  the  architects  were  rascals. 
Same  with  hearing.  The  pit  costs  half  a  crown,  and 
you  don't  pay  half  a  crown  to  hear  glasses  rattled 
in  a  bar,  or  motor-omnibuses  rushing  down  the 
street.  I  was  never  yet  in  a  London  theatre  where 
the  architect  had  really  understood  that  what  the 
people  in  the  pit  wanted  to  hear  was  the  play,  and 
nothing  but  the  play." 

"  You're  rather  hard  on  us,"  said  Mr.  Alloyd. 

"  Not  so  hard  as  you  are  on  us!  "  said  Edward 
Henry.  "And  then  draughts!  I  suppose  you 
think  a  draught  on  the  back  of  the  neck  is  good  for 
us!  ...  But  of  course  you'll  say  all  this  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  architecture  !  " 

"Oh,  no,  I  sha'n't!  Oh,  no,  I  sha'n't!"  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Alloyd.  "  I  quite  agree  with  you  !  " 


"  Certainly.  You  seem  to  be  interested  in  the- 
atres?" 

"  I  am  a  bit." 

"You  come  from  the  North?" 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Edward  Henry.  Mr.  Alloyd 
had  no  right  to  be  aware  that  he  was  not  a  Londoner. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

11  1  come  from  the  Midlands." 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO  181 

"Oh!  .  .  .  Have  you  seen  the  Russian  ballet?" 

Edward  Henry  had  not,  nor  heard  of  it. 
"Why?"  he  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Mr.  Alloyd.  "  Only  I  saw  it  the 
night  before  last  in  Paris.  You  never  saw  such 
dancing.  It's  enchanted  —  enchanted !  The  most 
lovely  thing  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  I  couldn't  sleep 
for  it.  Not  that  I  ever  sleep  very  well !  I  merely 
thought,  as  you  were  interested  in  theatres  —  and 
Midland  people  are  so  enterprising!  .  .  .  Have  a 
cigarette?  " 

Edward  Henry,  who  had  begun  to  feel  sympa- 
thetic, was  somewhat  repelled  by  these  odd  last  re- 
marks. After  all  the  man,  though  human  enough, 
was  an  utter  stranger. 

"  No,  thanks,"  he  said.  "  And  so  you're  going  to 
put  up  a  church  here?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  wonder  whether  you  are." 

He  walked  abruptly  away  under  Alloyd's  riddling 
stare,  and  he  could  almost  hear  the  man  saying, 
"  Well,  he's  a  queer  lot,  if  you  like." 

At  the  corner  of  the  site,  below  the  spot  where 
his  electric  sign  was  to  have  been,  he  was  stopped 
by  a  well-dressed  middle  aged  lady  who  bore  a 
bundle  of  papers. 

"  Will  you  buy  a  paper  for  the  cause?  "  she  sug- 
gested in  a  pleasant,  persuasive  tone.  "  One 
penny." 

He  obeyed,  and  she  handed  him  a  small  blue- 
printed periodical  of  which  the  title  was,  Azure, 


1 82  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"the  Organ  of  the  New  Thought  Church."  He 
glanced  at  it,  puzzled,  and  then  at  the  middle-aged 
lady. 

"  Every  penny  of  profit  goes  to  the  Church- 
Building  Fund,"  she  said,  as  if  in  defence  of  her 
action. 

Edward  Henry  burst  out  laughing;  but  it  was  a 
nervous,  half-hysterical  laugh  that  he  laughed. 

II. 

In  Carey  Street,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  he  descended 
from  his  brougham  in  front  of  the  offices  of  Messrs. 
Slosson,  Hodge,  Budge,  Slosson,  Maveringham, 
Slosson,  and  Vulto,  Solicitors,  known  in  the  profes- 
sion by  the  compendious  abbreviation  of  Slossons. 
Edward  Henry,  having  been  a  lawyer's  clerk  some 
twenty-five  years  earlier,  was  aware  of  Slossons. 
Although  on  the  strength  of  his  youthful  clerkship 
he  claimed,  and  was  admitted,  to  possess  a  very 
special  knowledge  of  the  law, —  enough  to  silence 
argument  when  his  opponent  did  not  happen  to  be 
an  actual  solicitor, —  he  did  not  in  truth  possess  a 
very  special  knowledge  of  the  law, —  how  should  he, 
seeing  that  he  had  only  been  a  practitioner  of  short- 
hand?—  but  the  fame  of  Slosson  he  positively  was 
acquainted  with!  He  had  even  written  letters  to 
the  mighty  Slossons. 

Every  lawyer  and  lawyer's  clerk  in  the  realm 
knew  the  greatness  of  Slossons,  and  crouched  before 
it,  and  also,  for  the  most  part,  impugned  its  right- 
eousness with  sneers.  For  Slossons  acted  for  the 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO  183 

ruling  classes  of  England,  who  only  get  value  for 
their  money  when  they  are  buying  something  that 
they  can  see,  smell,  handle,  or  intimidate  —  such  as 
a  horse,  a  motor-car,  a  dog,  or  a  lackey.  Slossons, 
those  crack  solicitors,  like  the  crack  nerve  specialists 
in  Harley  Street  and  the  crack  fortune-tellers  in 
Bond  Street,  sold  their  invisible,  inodorous,  and  in- 
tangible wares  of  advice  at  double,  treble,  or 
decuple  their  worth,  according  to  the  psychology  of 
the  customer.  They  were  great  bullies.  And  they 
were,  further,  great  money-lenders  —  on  behalf  of 
their  wealthier  clients.  In  obedience  to  a  conven- 
ient theory  that  it  is  imprudent  to  leave  money  too 
long  in  one  place,  they  were  continually  calling  in 
mortgages  and  re-lending  the  sums  so  collected  on 
fresh  investments,  thus  achieving  two  bills  of  costs 
on  each  transaction,  and  sometimes  three,  besides  em- 
ploying an  army  of  valuers,  surveyors,  and  mortgage- 
insurance  brokers.  In  short,  Slossons  had  nothing 
to  learn  about  the  art  of  self-enrichment. 

Three  vast  motor-cars  waited  in  front  of  their 
ancient  door,  and  Edward  Henry's  hired  electric  ve- 
hicle was  diminished  to  a  trifle. 

He  began  by  demanding  the  senior  partner,  who 
was  denied  to  him  by  an  old  clerk  with  a  face  like 
a  stone  wall.  Only  his  brutal  Midland  insistence, 
and  the  mention  of  the  important  letter  which  he 
had  written  to  the  firm  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
saved  him  from  the  ignominy  of  seeing  no  partner 
at  all.  At  the  end  of  the  descending  ladder  of 
partners  he  clung  desperately  to  Mr.  Vulto,  and  he 


1 84  THE  OLD  ADAM 

saw  Mr.  Vulto  —  a  youngish  and  sarcastic  person 
with  blue  eyes,  lodged  in  a  dark  room  at  the  back 
of  the  house.  It  occurred  fortunately  that  his  let- 
ter had  been  allotted  to  precisely  Mr.  Vulto  for  the 
purpose  of  being  answered. 

'  You  got  my  letter?  "  said  Edward  Henry  cheer- 
fully as  he  sat  down  at  Mr.  Vulto's  flat  desk  on  the 
side  opposite  from  Mr.  Vulto. 

"  We  got  it,  but  frankly  we  cannot  make  head  or 
tail  of  it!  .  .  .  What  option?"  Mr.  Vulto's  man- 
ner was  crudely  sarcastic. 

"This  option!"  said  Edward  Henry,  drawing 
papers  from  his  pocket  and  putting  down  the  right 
paper  in  front  of  Mr.  Vulto  with  an  uncompromis- 
ing slap. 

Mr.  Vulto  picked  up  the  paper  with  precautions, 
as  if  it  were  a  contagion,  and,  assuming  eye-glasses, 
perused  it  with  his  mouth  open. 

"  We  know  nothing  of  this,"  said  Mr.  Vulto,  and 
it  was  as  though  he  had  added,  "  Therefore  this 
does  not  exist."  He  glanced  with  sufferance  at  the 
window,  which  offered  a  close-range  view  of  a  white- 
washed wall. 

"  Then  you  weren't  in  the  confidence  of  your 
client?  " 

"  The  late  Lord  Woldo?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Pardon  me." 

"  Obviously  you  weren't  in  his  confidence  as  re- 
gards this  particular  matter." 

"  As  you  say,"  said  Mr.  Vulto  with  frigid  irony. 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     185 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 

"Well  —  nothing."  Mr.  Vulto  removed  his 
eye-glasses  and  stood  up. 

"  Well,  good  morning.  I'll  walk  round  to  my 
solicitors."  Edward  Henry  seized  the  option. 

"That  will  be  simpler,"  said  Mr.  Vulto.  Slos- 
sons  much  preferred  to  deal  with  lawyers  than  with 
laymen,  because  it  increased  costs  and  vitalised  the 
profession. 

At  that  moment  a  stout,  red-faced,  and  hoary  man 
puffed  very  authoritatively  into  the  room. 

"  Vulto,"  he  cried  sharply,  "  Mr.  Wrissell's  here. 
Didn't  they  tell  you?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Slosson,"  answered  Vulto,  suddenly 
losing  all  his  sarcastic  quality  and  becoming  a  very 
junior  partner.  "  I  was  just  engaged  with  Mr.  —  " 
(he  paused  to  glance  at  his  desk) — "  Machin,  whose 
singular  letter  we  received  this  morning  about  an 
alleged  option  on  the  lease  of  the  chapel-site  at 
Piccadilly  Circus  —  the  Woldo  estate,  sir.  You  re- 
member, sir?  " 

"  This  the  man?  "  enquired  Mr.  Slosson,  ex-presi- 
dent of  the  Law  Society,  with  a  jerk  of  the  thumb. 

Edward  Henry  said:     "This  is  the  man." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Slosson,  lifting  his  chin  and 
still  puffing,  "  it  would  be  extremely  interesting  to 
hear  his  story,  at  any  rate.  I  was  just  telling  Mr. 
WVissell  about  it.  Come  this  way,  sir.  I've  heard 
some  strange  things  in  my  time,  but — "  He 
stopped.  "  Please  follow  me,  sir,"  he  ordained. 

"  I'm  dashed  if  I'll  follow  you!  "  Edward  Henry 


1 86  THE  OLD  ADAM 

desired  to  say,  but  he  had  not  the  courage  to  say 
it.  And  because  he  was  angry  with  himself  he  de- 
termined to  make  matters  as  unpleasant  as  possible 
for  the  innocent  Mr.  Slosson,  who  was  used  to  bully- 
ing, and  so  well  paid  for  bullying,  that  really  no 
blame  could  be  apportioned  to  him.  It  would  have 
been  as  reasonable  to  censure  an  ordinary  person  for 
breathing  as  to  censure  Mr.  Slosson  for  bullying. 
And  so  Edward  Henry  was  steeling  himself:  :<  I'll 
do  him  in  the  eye  for  that,  even  if  it  costs  me  every 
cent  I've  got."  (A  statement  characterised  by 
poetical  licence!) 

in. 

Mr.  Slosson,  senior,  heard  Edward  Henry's  story, 
but  seemingly  did  not  find  it  quite  as  interesting  as 
he  had  prophesied  it  would  be.  When  Edward 
Henry  had  finished  the  old  man  drummed  on  an 
enormous  table,  and  said: 

"Yes,  yes.  And  then?"  His  manner  was  far 
less  bullying  than  in  the  room  of  Mr.  Vulto. 

"  It's  your  turn  now,  Mr.  Slosson,"  said  Edward 
Henry. 

"My  turn?     How?" 

"  To  go  on  with  the  story."  He  glanced  at  the 
clock.  "  I've  brought  it  up  to  date  —  eleven  fif- 
teen o'clock  this  morning,  anno  domini."  And  as 
Mr.  Slosson  continued  to  drum  on  the  table  and  to 
look  out  of  the  window,  Edward  Henry  also 
drummed  on  the  table  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

The  chamber  of  the  senior  partner  was  a  very 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     187 

different  matter  from  Mr.  Vulto's.  It  was  immense. 
It  was  not  disfigured  by  japanned  boxes  inartistically 
lettered  in  white,  as  are  most  lawyers'  offices.  In- 
deed, in  aspect  it  resembled  one  of  the  cosier  rooms 
in  a  small  and  decaying  but  still  comfortable  club. 
It  had  easy  chairs  and  cigar-boxes.  Moreover,  the 
sun  got  into  it,  and  there  was  a  view  of  the  comic 
yet  stately  Victorian  Gothic  of  the  Law  Courts. 
The  sun  enheartened  Edward  Henry.  And  he  felt 
secure  in  an  unimpugnable  suit  of  clothes;  in  the 
shape  of  his  collar,  the  colour  of  his  necktie,  the 
style  of  his  creaseless  boots ;  and  in  the  protuberance 
of  his  pocketbook  in  his  pocket. 

As  Mr.  Slosson  had  failed  to  notice  the  competi- 
tion of  his  drumming,  he  drummed  still  louder. 
Whereupon  Mr.  Slosson  stopped  drumming.  Ed- 
ward Henry  gazed  amiably  around.  Right  at  the 
back  of  the  room,  before  a  back  window  that  gave 
on  the  whitewashed  wall,  a  man  was  rapidly  putting 
his  signature  to  a  number  of  papers.  But  Mr.  Slos- 
son had  ignored  the  existence  of  this  man,  treating 
him  apparently  as  a  figment  of  the  disordered  brain, 
or  as  an  optical  illusion. 

"  I've  nothing  to  say,"  said  Mr.  Slosson. 

"Or  to  do?" 

"  Or  to  do." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Slosson,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  your 
junior  partner  has  already  outlined  your  policy  of 
masterly  inactivity.  So  I  may  as  well  go.  I  did 
say  I'd  go  to  my  solicitors;  but  it's  occurred  to  me 
that  as  I'm  a  principal  I  may  as  well  first  of  all  see 


1 88  THE  OLD  ADAM 

the  principals  on  the  other  side.  I  only  came  here 
because  it  mentions  in  the  option  that  the  matter  is 
to  be  completed  here;  that's  all." 

"  You  a  principal !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Slosson.  "  It 
seems  to  me  you're  a  long  way  removed  from  a  prin- 
cipal. The  alleged  option  is  given  to  a  Miss  Rose 
Euclid." 

"  Excuse  me  —  the  Miss  Rose  Euclid." 

"  Miss  Rose  Euclid.  She  divides  up  her  alleged 
interest  into  fractions  and  sells  them  here  and  there, 
and  you  buy  them  up  one  after  another."  Mr.  Slos- 
son laughed,  not  unamiably.  "  You're  a  principal 
about  five  times  removed." 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  whatever  I  am, 
I  have  a  sort  of  idea  I'll  go  and  see  this  Mr.  Gristle 
or  Wrissell.  Can  you — " 

The  man  at  the  distant  desk  turned  his  head. 
Mr.  Slosson  coughed.  The  man  rose. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Wrissell,"  said  Mr.  Slosson  with  a 
gesture  from  which  confusion  was  not  absent. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  the  advancing  Mr.  Rollo 
Wrissell,  and  he  said  it  with  an  accent  more  Ken- 
singtonian  than  any  accent  that  Edward  Henry  had 
ever  heard.  His  lounging  and  yet  elegant  walk  as- 
sorted well  with  the  accent.  His  black  clothes  were 
loose  and  untidy.  Such  boots  as  his  could  not  have 
been  worn  by  Edward  Henry  even  in  the  Five  Towns 
without  blushing  shame,  and  his  necktie  looked  as  if 
a  baby  or  a  puppy  had  been  playing  with  it.  Never- 
theless, these  shortcomings  made  absolutely  no  differ- 
ence whatever  to  the  impressiveness  of  Mr.  Rollo 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     189 

Wrissell,  who  was  famous  for  having  said  once: 
"  I  put  on  whatever  comes  to  hand  first,  and  people 
don't  seem  to  mind." 

Mr.  Rollo  Wrissell  belonged  to  one  of  the  seven 
great  families  which  once  governed  —  and,  by  the 
way,  still  do  govern  —  England,  Scotland,  and  Ire- 
land. The  members  of  these  families  may  be 
divided  into  two  species :  those  who  rule,  and  those 
who  are  too  lofty  in  spirit  even  to  rule  —  those  who 
exist.  Mr.  Rollo  Wrissell  belonged  to  the  latter 
species.  His  nose  and  mouth  had  the  exquisite  re- 
finement of  the  descendant  of  generations  of  art- 
collectors  and  poet-patronisers.  He  enjoyed  life, 
but  not  with  rude  activity,  like  the  grosser  members 
of  the  ruling  caste,  rather  with  a  certain  rare  lan- 
guor. He  sniffed  and  savoured  the  whole  spherical 
surface  of  the  apple  of  life  with  those  delicate  nos- 
trils rather  than  bit  into  it.  His  one  conviction  was 
that  in  a  properly  managed  world  nothing  ought  to 
occur  to  disturb  or  agitate  the  perfect  tranquillity 
of  his  existing.  And  this  conviction  was  so  pro- 
found, so  visible  even  in  his  lightest  gesture  and 
glance,  that  it  exerted  a  mystic  influence  over  the  en- 
tire social  organism,  with  the  result  that  practically 
nothing  ever  did  occur  to  disturb  or  agitate  the  per- 
fect tranquillity  of  Mr.  Rollo  Wrissell's  existing. 
For  Mr.  Rollo  Wrissell  the  world  was  indeed  almost 
ideal. 

Edward  Henry  breathed  to  himself: 

"  This  is  the  genuine  article." 

And,  being  an  Englishman,  he  was  far  more  im- 


1 90  THE  OLD  ADAM 

pressed  by  Mr.  Wrissell  than  he  had  been  by  the 
much  vaster  reputations  of  Rose  Euclid,  Seven 
Sachs,  Mr.  Slosson,  senior.  At  the  same  time  he  in- 
wardly fought  against  Mr.  Wrissell's  silent  and  un- 
conscious dominion  over  him,  and  all  the  defiant 
Midland  belief  that  one  body  is  as  good  as  any- 
body else  surged  up  in  him  —  but  stopped  at  his  lips. 

"  Please  don't  rise,"  Mr.  Wrissell  entreated, 
waving  both  hands.  "  I'm  very  sorry  to  hear  of  this 
unhappy  complication,"  he  went  on  to  Edward 
Henry  with  the  most  adorable  and  winning  polite- 
ness. "  It  pains  me."  (His  martyred  expression 
said:  "And  really  I  ought  not  to  be  pained.") 
"  I'm  quite  convinced  that  you  are  here  in  absolute 
good  faith  —  the  most  absolute  good  faith,  Mr. — " 

"  Machin,"  suggested  Mr.  Slosson. 

"Ah!  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Machin.  "And,  nat- 
urally, in  the  management  of  enormous  estates  such 
as  Lord  Woldo's  little  difficulties  are  apt  to  occur. 
.  .  .  I'm  sorry  you've  been  put  in  a  false  position. 
You  have  all  my  sympathies.  But  of  course  you 
understand  that  in  this  particular  case.  ...  I  myself 
have  taken  up  the  lease  from  the  estate.  I  happen 
to  be  interested  in  a  great  movement.  The  plans 
of  my  church  have  been  passed  by  the  county  coun- 
cil. Building  operations  have  indeed  begun." 

"  Oh,  chuck  it  I  "  said  Edward  Henry  inexcus- 
ibly  —  but  such  were  his  words.  A  surfeit  of  Mr. 
Wrissell's  calm  egotism  and  accent  and  fatigued 
harmonious  gestures  drove  him  to  commit  this  out- 
rage upon  the  very  fabric  of  civilisation. 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO  191 

Mr.  Wrissell,  if  he  had  ever  met  with  the  phrase, 
—  which  is  doubtful, —  had  certainly  never  heard  it 
addressed  to  himself;  conceivably  he  might  have 
once  come  across  it  in  turning  over  the  pages  of  a 
slang  dictionary.  A  tragic  expression  traversed  his 
bewildered  features;  and  then  he  recovered  himself 
somewhat. 

((    T  M 

"Go  and  bury  yourself!"  said  Edward  Henry, 
with  increased  savagery. 

Mr.  Wrissell,  having  comprehended,  went.  He 
really  did  go.  He  could  not  tolerate  scenes,  and 
his  glance  showed  that  any  forcible  derangement  of 
his  habit  of  existing  smoothly  would  nakedly  disclose 
the  unyielding  adamantine  selfishness  that  was  the 
basis  of  the  Wrissell  philosophy.  His  glance  was 
at  least  harsh  and  bitter.  He  went  in  silence,  and 
rapidly.  Mr.  Slosson,  senior,  followed  him  at  2 
great  pace. 

Edward  Henry  was  angry.  Strange  though  it 
may  seem,  the  chief  cause  of  his  anger  was  the  fact 
that  his  own  manners  and  breeding  were  lower, 
coarser,  clumsier,  more  brutal,  than  Mr.  WnsseH's. 

After  what  appeared  to  be  a  considerable  absence 
Mr.  Slosson,  senior,  returned  into  the  room.  Ed- 
ward Henry,  steeped  in  peculiar  meditations,  was 
repeating: 

"  So  thjs  is  Slosson's !  " 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Mr.  Slosson  with  a 
challenge  in  his  ancient  but  powerful  voice. 

"  Nowt!  "  said  Edward  Henry. 


192  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Slosson,  "  we'd  better  come 
to  an  understanding  about  this  so-called  option.  It's 
not  serious,  you  know." 

"  You'll  find  it  is." 

"  It's  not  commercial." 

"  I  fancy  it  is  —  for  me!  "  said  Edward  Henry. 

'  The  premium  mentioned  is  absurdly  inadequate, 
and  the  ground-rent  is  quite  improperly  low." 

'  That's  just  why  I  look  on  it  as  commercial  — 
from  my  point  of  view,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

"  It  isn't  worth  the  paper  it's  written  on,"  said 
Mr.  Slosson. 

"Why?" 

"  Because,  seeing  the  unusual  form  of  it,  it  ought 
to  be  stamped,  and  it  isn't  stamped." 

"  Listen  here,  Mr.  Slosson,"  said  Edward  Henry, 
"  I  want  you  to  remember  that  you're  talking  to  a 
lawyer." 

"A  lawyer?" 

"  I  was  in  the  law  for  years,"  said  Edward  Henry. 
"  And  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  I  can  get  the 
option  stamped  at  any  time  by  paying  a  penalty, 
which  at  worst  will  be  a  trifle  compared  to  the  value 
of  the  option." 

"Ah!"  Mr.  Slosson  paused,  and  resumed  his 
puffing,  which  exercise  —  perhaps  owing  to  undue 
excitement  —  he  had  pretermitted.  "  Then  further, 
the  deed  isn't  drawn  up." 

"  That's  not  my  fault." 

"  Further,  the  option  is  not  transferable." 

"We  shall  see  about  that." 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     193 

"  And  the  money  ought  to  be  paid  down  to-day, 
even  on  your  own  showing  —  every  cent  of  it,  in 
cash." 

"  Here  is  the  money,"  said  Edward  Henry,  draw- 
ing his  pocketbook  from  his  breast.  "  Every  cent 
of  it,  in  the  finest  brand  of  bank-notes !  " 

He  flung  down  the  notes  with  the  impulsive  ges- 
ture of  an  artist;  then,  with  the  caution  of  a  .man  of 
the  world,  gathered  them  in  again. 

"  The  whole  circumstances  under  which  the  al- 
leged option  is  alleged  to  have  been  given  would 
have  to  be  examined,"  said  Mr.  Slosson. 

"I  sha'n't  mind,"  said  Edward  Henry;  "others 
might." 

"  There  is  such  a  thing  as  undue  influence." 

"  Miss  Euclid  is  fifty  if  she's  a  day,"  replied  Ed- 
ward Henry. 

"  I  don't  see  what  Miss  Euclid's  age  has  to  do 
with  the  matter." 

"  Then  your  eyesight  must  be  defective,  Mr.  Slos- 


son." 


"  The  document  might  be  a  forgery." 

"  It  might.  But  I've  got  an  autograph  letter 
written  entirely  in  the  last  Lord  Woldo's  hand,  en- 
closing the  option." 

"  Let  me  see  it,  please." 

"  Certainly,  but  in  a  court  of  law,"  said  Edward 
Henry.  "  You  know  you're  hungry  for  a  good  ac- 
tion, followed  by  a  bill  of  costs  as  long  as  from  here 
to  Jericho." 

"  Mr.   Wrissell  will   assuredly  fight,"   said   Mr. 


i94  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Slosson.  "  He  has  already  given  me  the  most  ex- 
plicit instructions.  Mr.  Wrissell's  objection  to  a 
certain  class  of  theatres  is  well-known." 

"  And  does  Mr.  Wrissell  settle  everything?  " 

"  Mr.  Wrissell  and  Lady  Woldo  settle  every- 
thing between  them,  and  Lady  Woldo  is  guided  by 
Mr.  Wrissell.  There  is  an  impression  abroad  that 
because  Lady  Woldo  was  originally  connected  —  er 
—  with  the  stage,  she  and  Mr.  Wrissell  are  not  en- 
tirely at  one  in  the  conduct  of  her  and  her  son's  in- 
terests. Nothing  could  be  further  from  the  fact." 

Edward  Henry's  thoughts  dwelt  for  a  few  mo- 
ments upon  the  late  Lord  Woldo's  picturesque  and 
far-resounding  marriage. 

"  Can  you  give  me  Lady  Woldo's  address?  " 

"  I  can't,"  said  Mr.  Slosson  after  an  instant's  hesi- 
tation. 

'  You  mean  you  won't!  " 

Mr.  Slosson  pursed  his  lips. 

"  Well,  you  can  do  the  other  thing !  "  said  Ed- 
ward Henry,  insolent  to  the  last. 

As  he  left  the  premises  he  found  Mr.  Rollo  Wris- 
sell and  his  own  new  acquaintance,  Mr.  Alloyd,  the 
architect,  chatting  in  the  portico.  Mr.  Wrissell  was 
calm,  bland,  and  attentive;  Mr.  Alloyd  was  eager, 
excited,  and  deferential. 

Edward  Henry  caught  the  words  "  Russian  ballet." 
He  reflected  upon  an  abstract  question  oddly  discon- 
nected with  the  violent  welter  of  his  sensations: 
"  Can  a  man  be  a  good  practical  architect  who  isn't 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     195 

able  to  sleep  because  he's  seen  a  Russian  ballet?" 
The  alert  chauffeur  of  the  electric  brougham,  who 
had  an  excellent  idea  of  effect,  brought  the  admirable 
vehicle  to  the  curb  exactly  in  front  of  Edward  Henry 
as  Edward  Henry  reached  the  edge  of  the  pavement. 
Ejaculating  a  brief  command,  Edward  Henry  dis- 
appeared within  the  vehicle,  and  was  whirled  away 
in  a  style  whose  perfection  no  scion  of  a  governing 
family  could  have  bettered. 

IV. 

The  next  scene  in  the  exciting  drama  of  Edward 
Henry's  existence  that  day  took  place  in  a  building 
as  huge  as  Wilkins's  itself.  As  the  brougham 
halted  at  its  portals  an  old  and  medalled  man  rushed 
forth,  touched  his  cap,  and  assisted  Edward  Henry 
to  alight.  Within  the  groined  and  echoing  hall  of 
the  establishment  a  young  boy  sprang  out  and,  with 
every  circumstance  of  deference,  took  Edward 
Henry's  hat  and  stick.  Edward  Henry  then  walked 
a  few  steps  to  a  lift,  and  said  "  Smoking-room !  "  to 
another  menial,  who  bowed  humbly  before  him,  and 
at  the  proper  moment  bowed  him  out  of  the  lift. 
Edward  Henry,  crossing  a  marble  floor,  next  entered 
an  enormous  marble  apartment  chiefly  populated  by 
easy  chairs  and  tables.  He  sat  down  to  a  table,  and 
fiercely  rang  a  bell  which  reposed  thereon.  Several 
other  menials  simultaneously  appeared  out  of  in- 
visibility, and  one  of  them  hurried  obsequiously  to- 
wards him. 


196  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Bring  me  a  glass  of  water  and  a  peerage,"  said 
Edward  Henry. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir.     A  glass  of  water  and  — " 

"  A  peerage.     P  double  e-r-a-g-e." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  I  didn't  catch.  Which 
peerage,  sir?  We  have  several." 

"  All  of  them." 

In  a  hundred  seconds,  the  last  menial  having 
thanked  him  for  kindly  taking  the  glass  and  the  pile 
of  books,  Edward  Henry  was  sipping  water  and 
studying  peerages.  In  two  hundred  seconds  he  was 
off  again.  A  menial  opened  the  swing-doors  of  the 
smoking-room  for  him,  and  bowed.  The  menial 
of  the  lift  bowed,  wafted  him  downwards,  and 
bowed.  The  infant  menial  produced  his  hat  and 
stick  and  bowed.  The  old  and  medalled  menial  sum- 
moned his  brougham  with  a  frown  at  the  chauffeur 
and  a  smile  at  Edward  Henry,  bowed,  opened  the 
door  of  the  brougham,  helped  Edward  Henry  in, 
bowed,  and  shut  the  door. 

"Where  to,  sir?" 

"  262  Eaton  Square,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

;*  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  aged  menial,  and  re- 
peated in  a  curt  and  peremptory  voice  to  the 
chauffeur,  "  262  Eaton  Square !  "  Lastly  he  touched 
his  cap. 

And  Edward  Henry  swiftly  left  the  precincts  of 
the  headquarters  of  political  democracy  in  London. 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     197 


v. 

As  he  came  within  striking  distance  of  262  Eaton 
Square  he  had  the  advantage  of  an  unusual  and 
brilliant  spectacle. 

Lord  Woldo  was  one  of  the  richest  human  beings 
in  England  —  and  incidentally  he  was  very  human. 
If  he  had  been  in  a  position  to  realise  all  his  assets 
and  go  to  America  with  the  ready  money,  his  wealth 
was  such  that  even  amid  the  luxurious  society  of 
Pittsburg  he  could  have  cut  quite  a  figure  for  some 
time.  He  owned  a  great  deal  of  the  land  between 
Oxford  Street  and  Regent  Street,  and  again  a  num- 
ber of  the  valuable  squares  north  of  Oxford  Street 
were  his,  and  as  for  Edgware  Road  —  just  as  auc- 
tioneers advertise  a  couple  of  miles  of  trout-stream 
or  salmon-river  as  a  pleasing  adjunct  to  a  country 
estate,  so,  had  Lord  Woldo's  estate  come  under  the 
hammer,  a  couple  of  miles  of  Edgware  Road  might 
have  been  advertised  as  among  its  charms.  Lord 
Woldo  owned  four  theatres,  and  to  each  theatre 
he  had  his  private  entrance,  and  in  each  theatre  his 
private  box,  over  which  the  management  had  no 
sway.  The  Woldos  in  their  leases  had  always  in- 
sisted on  this. 

He  never  built  in  London;  his  business  was  to  let 
land  for  others  to  build  upon,  the  condition  being 
that  what  others  built  should  ultimately  belong  to 
him.  Thousands  of  people  in  London  were  only  too 
delighted  to  build  on  these  terms:  he  could  pick  and 
choose  his  builders.  (The  astute  Edward  Henry 


198  THE  OLD  ADAM 

himself,  for  example,  wanted  furiously  to  build  for 
him,  and  was  angry  because  obstacles  stood  in  the 
path  of  his  desire.)  It  was  constantly  happening 
that  under  legal  agreements  some  fine  erection  put 
up  by  another  hand  came  into  the  absolute  posses- 
sion of  Lord  Woldo  without  one  halfpenny  of  ex- 
pense to  Lord  Woldo.  Now  and  then  a  whole 
street  would  thus  tumble  all  complete  into  his  hands. 
The  system,  most  agreeable  for  Lord  Woldo  and 
about  a  dozen  other  landlords  in  London,  was  called 
the  leasehold  system;  and  when  Lord  Woldo  be- 
came the  proprietor  of  some  bricks  and  mortar  that 
had  cost  him  nothing,  it  was  said  that  one  of  Lord 
Woldo's  leases  had  "  fallen  in,"  and  everybody  was 
quite  satisfied  by  this  phrase. 

In  the  provinces,  besides  castles,  forests,  and 
moors,  Lord  Woldo  owned  many  acres  of  land 
under  which  was  coal,  and  he  allowed  enterprising 
persons  to  dig  deep  for  this  coal,  and  often  explode 
themselves  to  death  in  the  adventure,  on  the  under- 
standing that  they  paid  him  sixpence  for  every  ton 
of  coal  brought  to  the  surface,  whether  they  made 
any  profit  on  it  or  not.  This  arrangement  was 
called  "mining  rights" — another  phrase  that  ap- 
parently satisfied  everybody. 

It  might  be  thought  that  Lord  Woldo  was,  as 
they  say,  on  velvet.  But  the  velvet,  if  it  could  be  so 
described,  was  not  of  so  rich  and  comfortable  a 
pile  after  all;  for  Lord  Woldo's  situation  involved 
many  and  heavy  responsibilities,  and  was  surrounded 
by  grave  dangers.  He  was  the  representative  of  an 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     199 

old  order  going  down  in  the  unforeseeable  welter  of 
twentieth-century  politics.  Numbers  of  thoughtful 
students  of  English  conditions  spent  much  of  their 
time  in  wondering  what  would  happen  one  day  to 
the  Lord  Woldos  of  England.  And  when  a  really 
great  strike  came,  and  a  dozen  ex-artisans  met  in  a 
private  room  of  a  West  End  hotel  and  decided,  with- 
out consulting  Lord  Woldo,  or  the  Prime  Minister, 
or  anybody,  that  the  commerce  of  the  country  should 
be  brought  to  a  standstill,  these  thoughtful  students 
perceived  that  even  Lord  Woldo's  situation  was  no 
more  secure  than  other  people's;  in  fact,  that  it  was 
rather  less  so. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  circumstances  of 
Lord  Woldo  furnished  him  with  food  for  thought, 
and  very  indigestible  food  too.  .  .  .  Why,  at  least 
one  hundred  sprightly  female  creatures  were  being 
brought  up  in  the  hope  of  marrying  him.  And  they 
would  all  besiege  him,  and  he  could  only  marry  one 
of  them  —  at  once  ! 

Now,  as  Edward  Henry  stopped  as  near  to  No. 
262  as  the  presence  of  a  waiting  two-horse  carriage 
permitted,  he  saw  a  gray-haired  and  blue-cloaked 
woman  solemnly  descending  the  steps  of  the  portico 
of  No.  262.  She  was  followed  by  another  similar 
woman,  and  watched  by  a  butler  and  a  footman  at 
the  summit  of  the  steps,  and  by  a  footman  on  the 
pavement,  and  by  the  coachman  on  the  box  of  the 
carnage.  She  carried  a  thick  and  lovely  white 
shawl,  and  in  this  shawl  was  Lord  Woldo  and  all 
his  many  and  heavy  responsibilities.  It  was  his 


200  THE  OLD  ADAM 

fancy  to  take  the  air  thus,  in  the  arms  of  a  woman. 
He  allowed  himself  to  be  lifted  into  the  open  car- 
riage, and  the  door  of  the  carriage  was  shut;  and 
off  went  the  two  ancient  horses,  slowly,  and  the  two 
adult  fat  men  and  the  two  mature  spinsters,  and  the 
vehicle  weighing  about  a  ton;  and  Lord  Woldo's 
morning  promenade  had  begun. 

"Follow  that!"  said  Edward  Henry  to  the 
chauffeur,  and  nipped  into  his  brougham  again.  No- 
body had  told  him  that  the  being  in  the  shawl  was 
Lord  Woldo,  but  he  was  sure  that  it  must  be  so. 

In  twenty  minutes  he  saw  Lord  Woldo  being 
carried  to  and  fro  amid  the  groves  of  Hyde  Park 
(one  of  the  few  bits  of  London  earth  that  did  not 
belong  to  him  nor  to  his  more  or  less  distant  con- 
nections) while  the  carriage  waited.  Once  Lord 
Woldo  sat  on  a  chair,  but  the  chief  nurse's  lap  was 
between  him  and  the  chair-seat.  Both  nurses  chat- 
tered to  him  in  Kensingtonian  accents,  but  he  offered 
no  replies. 

"  Go  back  to  262,"  said  Edward  Henry  to  his 
chauffeur. 

Arrived  again  in  Eaton  Equare,  he  did  not  give 
himself  time  to  be  imposed  upon  by  the  grandiosity 
of  the  square  in  general  nor  of  No.  262  in  particu- 
lar. He  just  ran  up  the  steps  and  rang  the  visitors' 
bell. 

"  After  all,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  waited, 
"these  houses  aren't  even  semi  detached!  They're 
just  houses  in  a  row,  and  I  bet  every  one  of  'em  can 
hear  the  piano  next  door!  " 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     201 

The  butler  whom  he  had  previously  caught  sight 
of  opened  the  great  portal. 

"  I  want  to  see  Lady  Woldo." 

"  Her  ladyship  — "  began  the  formidable  official. 

"  Now  look  here  my  man,"  said  Edward  Henry 
rather  in  desperation,  "  I  must  see  Lady  Woldo  in- 
stantly. It's  about  the  baby  — " 

"About  his  lordship?" 

"  Yes.     And  look  lively,  please." 

He  stepped  into  the  sombre  and  sumptuous  hall. 

"  Well,"  he  reflected,  "  I  am  going  it  —  no  mis- 
take!" 

VI. 

He  was  in  a  large  back  drawing-room,  of  which 
the  window,  looking  north,  was  in  rich  stained  glass. 
"  No  doubt  because  they're  ashamed  of  the  view," 
he  said  to  himself.  The  size  of  the  chimneypiece 
impressed  him,  and  also  its  rich  carving.  "  But 
what  an  old-fashioned  grate!"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  They  need  gilt  radiators  here."  The  doorway 
was  a  marvel  of  ornate  sculpture,  and  he  liked  it. 
He  liked  too  the  effect  of  the  oil-paintings  —  mainly 
portraits  —  on  the  walls,  and  the  immensity  of  the 
brass  fender,  and  the  rugs,  and  the  leatherwork  of 
the  chairs.  But  there  could  be  no  question  that  the 
room  was  too  dark  for  the  taste  of  any  householder 
clever  enough  to  know  the  difference  between  a  house 
and  a  church. 

There  was  a  plunging  noise  at  the  door  behind 
him. 


202  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"What's  amiss?"  he  heard  a  woman's  voice. 
And  as  he  heard  it  he  thrilled  with  sympathetic  vi- 
brations. It  was  not  a  North  Staffordshire  voice, 
but  it  was  a  South  Yorkshire  voice,  which  is  almost 
the  same  thing.  It  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  first 
un-Kensingtonian  voice  to  soothe  his  ears  since  he  had 
left  the  Five  Towns.  Moreover,  nobody  born 
south  of  the  Trent  would  have  said,  "  What's 
amiss?"  A  Southerner  would  have  said,  "What's 
the  matter? "  Or,  more  probably,  "  What's  the 
mattah?  " 

He  turned  and  saw  a  breathless  and  very  beauti- 
ful woman  of  about  twenty-nine  or  thirty,  clothed  in 
black,  and  she  was  in  the  act  of  removing  from  her 
lovely  head  what  looked  like  a  length  of  red  flannel. 
He  noticed  too,  simultaneously,  that  she  was  suffer- 
ing from  a  heavy  cold.  A  majestic  footman  behind 
her  closed  the  door  and  disappeared. 

"  Are  you  Lady  Woldo?  "  Edward  Henry  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.     "  What's  this  about  my  baby?  " 

"  I've  just  seen  him  in  Hyde  Park,"  said  Edward 
Henry.  "  And  I  observed  that  a  rash  had  broken 
out  all  over  his  face." 

"  I  know  that,"  she  replied.  "  It  began  this 
morning,  all  of  a  sudden  like.  But  what  of  it?  I 
was  rather  alarmed  myself,  as  it's  the  first  rash  he's 
had,  and  he's  the  first  baby  I've  had  —  and  he'll  be 
the  last  too.  But  everybody  said  it  was  nothing. 
He's  never  been  out  without  me  before,  but  I  had 
such  a  cold.  Now,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that 
you've  come  down  specially  from  Hyde  Park  to  in- 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     203 

form  me  about  that  rash.  I'm  not  such  a  simpleton 
as  all  that."  She  spoke  in  one  long  breath. 

"  I'm  sure  you're  not,"  said  he.  "  But  we've  had 
a  good  deal  of  rash  in  our  family,  and  it  just  hap- 
pens that  I've  got  a  remedy  —  a  good,  sound,  north- 
country  remedy,  and  it  struck  me  you  might  like  to 
know  of  it.  So,  if  you  like,  I'll  telegraph  to  my 
missis  for  the  recipe.  Here's  my  card." 

She  read  his  name,  title,  and  address. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  it's  very  kind  of  you,  I'm  sure, 
Mr.  Machin.  I  knew  you  must  come  from  up  there 
the  moment  ye  spoke.  It  does  one  good  above  a 
bit  to  hear  a  plain  north-country  voice  after  all  this 
fal-lalling." 

She  blew  her  lovely  nose. 

"Doesn't  it!"  Edward  Henry  agreed.  "That 
was  just  what  I  thought  when  I  heard  you  say  '  Bless 
us ! '  Do  you  know,  I've  been  in  London  only  a 
two-three  days,  and  I  assure  you  I  was  beginning  to 
feel  lonely  for  a  bit  of  the  Midland  accent !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  London's  lonely!  "  and  sighed. 

"  My  eldest  was  bitten  by  a  dog  the  other  day," 
he  went  on  in  the  vein  of  gossip. 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  protested. 

"  Yes.  Gave  us  a  lot  of  anxiety.  All  right  now! 
You  might  like  to  know  that  cyanide  gauze  is  a  good 
thing  to  put  on  a  wound  —  supposing  anything  should 
happen  to  yours  — " 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  protested.  "I  do  hope  and 
pray  Robert  will  never  be  bitten  by  a  dog.  Was  it 
a  big  dog?  " 


204  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Fair,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  So  his  name's 
Robert !  So's  my  eldest's !  " 

"  Really  now!  They  wanted  him  to  be  called 
Robert  Philip  Stephen  Darrand  Patrick.  But  I 
wouldn't  have  it.  He's  just  Robert.  I  did  have 
my  own  way  there!  You  know  he  was  born  six 
months  after  his  father's  death." 

"  And  I  suppose  he's  ten  months  now?  " 

"No;  only  six." 

"  Great  Scott!     He's  big!  "  said  Edward  Henry. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  he  is.     I  am,  you  see." 

"  Now,  Lady  Woldo,"  said  Edward  Henry  in  a 
new  tone,  "  as  we're  both  from  the  same  part  of  the 
country,  I  want  to  be  perfectly  straight  and  above 
board  with  you.  It's  quite  true  —  all  that  about  the 
rash.  And  I  did  think  you'd  like  to  know.  But 
that's  not  really  what  I  came  to  see  you  about.  You 
understand,  not  knowing  you,  I  fancied  there  might 
be  some  difficulty  in  getting  at  you  — " 

"  Oh,  no !  "  she  said  simply.  "  Everybody  gets 
at  me." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  know,  you  see.  So  I  just  men- 
tioned the  baby  to  begin  with,  like !  " 

"  I  hope  you're  not  after  money,"  she  said  almost 
plaintively. 

"  I'm  not,"  he  said.  "  You  can  ask  anybody  in 
Bursley  or  Hanbridge  whether  I'm  the  sort  of  man 
to  go  out  on  the  cadge." 

"  I  once  was  in  the  chorus  in  a  panto  at  Han- 
bridge,"  she  said.  "  Don't  they  call  Bursley  '  Bos- 
ley  '  down  there  — '  owd  Bosley  '  ?  " 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     205 

Edward  Henry  dealt  suitably  with  these  remarks, 
and  then  gave  her  a  judicious  version  of  the  nature 
of  his  business,  referring  several  time  to  Mr.  Rollo 
Wrissell. 

"  Mr.  Wrissell !  "  she  murmured,  smiling. 

"  In  the  end  I  told  Mr.  Wrissell  to  go  and  bury 
himself,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  And  that's  about 
as  far  as  I've  got." 

"  Oh,  don't!"  she  said,  her  voice  weak  from 
suppressed  laughter,  and  then  the  laughter  burst  forth 
uncontrollable. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  delighted  with  himself  and  her, 
"  I  told  him  to  go  and  bury  himself!  " 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  like  Mr.  Wrissell?  " 

"  Well  — "  he  temporised. 

"  I  didn't  at  first,"  she  said.  "  I  hated  him.  But 
I  like  him  now,  though  I  must  say  I  adore  teasing 
him.  Mr.  Wrissell  is  what  I  call  a  gentleman. 
You  know  he  was  Lord  Woldo's  heir.  And  when 
Lord  Woldo  married  me  it  was  a  bit  of  a  blow  for 
him !  But  he  took  it  like  a  lamb.  He  never  turned 
a  hair,  and  he  was  more  polite  than  any  of  them. 
I  dare  say  you  know  Lord  Woldo  saw  me  in  a  musi- 
cal comedy  at  Scarborough  —  he  has  a  place  near 
there,  ye  know.  Mr.  Wrissell  had  made  him  angry 
about  some  of  his  New  Thought  fads,  and  I  do  be- 
lieve he  asked  me  to  marry  him  just  to  annoy  Mr. 
Wrissell.  He  used  to  say  to  me,  my  husband  did, 
that  he'd  married  me  in  too  much  of  a  hurry,  and 
that  it  was  too  bad  on  Mr.  Wrissell.  And  then  he 
laughed,  and  I  laughed  too.  '  After  all,'  he  used 


206  THE  OLD  ADAM 

to  say,  my  husband  did,  '  to  marry  an  actress  is  an 
accident  that  might  happen  to  any  member  of  the 
House  of  Lords;  and  it  does  happen  to  a  lot  of  'em, 
but  they  don't  marry  anything  as  beautiful  as  you, 
Blanche  ?  '  he  used  to  say.  '  And  you  stick  up  for 
yourself,  Blanche,'  he  used  to  say.  '  I'll  stand  by 
you,'  he  said.  He  was  a  straight  'un,  my  husband 
was. 

'  They  left  me  alone  until  he  died.  And  then 
they  began  —  I  mean  his  folks.  And  when  Bobby 
was  born  it  got  worse.  Only  I  must  say  even  then 
Mr.  Wrissell  never  turned  a  hair.  Everybody 
seemed  to  make  out  that  I  ought  to  be  very  grateful 
to  him,  and  I  ought  to  think  myself  very  lucky.  Me 
—  a  peeress  of  the  realm !  They  wanted  me  to 
change.  But  how  could  I  change?  I  was  Blanche 
Wilmot,  on  the  road  for  ten  years, —  never  got  a 
show  in  London, —  and  Blanche  Wilmot  I  shall  ever 
be,  peeress  or  no  peeress!  It  was  no  joke  being 
Lord  Woldo's  wife,  I  can  tell  you;  and  it's  still  less 
of  a  joke  being  Lord  Woldo's  mother.  You  imagine 
it.  It's  worse  than  carrying  about  a  china  vase  all 
the  time  on  a  slippery  floor.  Am  I  any  happier  now 
than  I  was  before  I  married?  Well,  I  am! 
There's  more  worry  in  one  way,  but  there's  less  in 
another.  And  of  course  I've  got  Bobby!  But  it 
isn't  all  beer  and  skittles,  and  I  let  'em  know  it,  too. 
I  can't  do  what  I  like.  And  I'm  just  a  sort  of  exile, 
you  know.  I  used  to  enjoy  being  on  the  stage,  and 
showing  myself  off.  A  hard  life,  but  one  does  enjoy 
it.  And  one  gets  used  to  it.  One  gets  to  need  it. 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO  207 

Sometimes  I  feel  I'd  give  anything  to  be  able  to  go 
on  the  stage  again  —  oh  —  oh  —  I" 

She  sneezed;  then  took  breath. 

"  Shall  I  put  some  more  coal  on  the  fire?  "  Ed- 
ward Henry  suggested. 

"  Perhaps  I'd  better  ring,"  she  hesitated. 

"  No,  I'll  do  it." 

He  put  coal  on  the  fire. 

"  And  if  you'd  feel  easier  with  that  flannel  round 
your  head,  please  do  put  it  on  again." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  will.  My  mother  used  to 
say  there  was  naught  like  red  flannel  for  a  cold." 

With  an  actress'  skill  she  arranged  the  flannel, 
and  from  its  encircling  folds  her  face  emerged  be- 
witching—  and  she  knew  it.  Her  complexion  had 
suffered  in  ten  years  of  the  road,  but  its  extreme 
beauty  could  not  yet  be  denied.  And  Edward  Henry 
thought:  "All  the  really  pretty  girls  come  from 
the  Midlands!" 

"  Here  I  am  rambling  on,"  she  said.  "  I  always 
was  a  rare  rambler.  What  do  you  want  me  to  do_?  " 

"  Exert  your  influence,"  he  replied.  "  Don't  you 
think  it's  rather  hard  on  Rose  Euclid  —  treating  her 
like  this?  Of  course  people  say  all  sorts  of  things 
about  Rose  Euclid  — " 

"  I  won't  hear  a  word  against  Rose  Euclid,"  cried 
Lady  Woldo.  "  Whenever  she  was  on  tour,  if  she 
knew  any  of  us  were  resting  in  the  town  where  she 
was,  she'd  send  us  seats.  And  many's  the  time  I've 
cried  and  cried  at  her  acting.  And  then  she's  the 
life  and  soul  of  the  Theatrical  Ladies'  Guild." 


208  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"And  isn't  that  your  husband's  signature?"  he 
demanded,  showing  the  precious  option. 

"  Of  course  it  is." 

He  did  not  show  her  the  covering  letter. 

"  And  I've  no  doubt  my  husband  wanted  a 
theatre  built  there,  and  he  wanted  to  do  Rose  Eu- 
clid a  good  turn.  And  I'm  quite  positive  certain 
sure  that  he  didn't  want  any  of  Mr.  Wrissell's  rig- 
maroles on  his  land.  He  wasn't  that  sort,  my  hus- 
band wasn't.  .  .  .  You  must  go  to  law  about  it," 
she  finished. 

'  Yes,"  said  Edward  Henry  protestingly.  "  And 
a  pretty  penny  it  would  cost  me  I  And  supposing 
I  lost,  after  all?  .  .  .  You  never  know.  There's 
a  much  easier  way  than  going  to  law." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  As  I  say,  you  exert  your  influence,  Lady  Woldo. 
Write  and  tell  them  I've  seen  you  and  you  insist  — " 

"  Eh!  Bless  you!  They'd  twist  me  round  their 
little  finger.  I'm  not  a  fool,  but  I'm  not  very  clever; 
I  know  that.  I  shouldn't  know  whether  I  was  stand- 
ing on  my  head  or  my  heels  by  the  time  they'd  done 
with  me.  I've  tried  to  face  them  out  before  — 
about  things." 

"Who,  Mr.  Wrissell  or  Slossons?" 

"  Both !  Eh,  but  I  should  like  to  put  a  spoke  in 
Mr.  Wrissell's  wheel,  gentleman  as  he  is.  You  see, 
he's  just  one  of  those  men  you  can't  help  wanting 
to  tease.  When  you're  on  the  road  you  meet  lots 
of  'em." 

"  I  tell  you  what  you  can  do !  " 


"What?" 

"  Write  and  tell  Slossons  that  you  don't  wish 
them  to  act  for  you  any  more,  and  you'll  go  to  an- 
other firm  of  solicitors.  That  would  bring  'em  to 
their  senses." 

"  Can't!  They're  in  the  will.  He  settled  that. 
That's  why  they're  so  cocky." 

Edward  Henry  persisted,  and  this  time  with  an 
exceedingly  impressive  and  conspiratorial  air: 

u  I  tell  you  another  thing  you  could  do  —  you 
really  could  do  —  and  it  depends  on  nobody  but 
yourself." 

"  Well,"  she  said  with  decision,  "  I'll  do  it." 

"Whatever  it  is?" 

"  If  it's  straight." 

"  Of  course  it's  straight.  And  it  would  be  a  grand 
way  of  teasing  Mr.  Wrissell  and  all  of  'em!  A 
simply  grand  way!  I  should  die  of  laughing." 

"  Well  — " 

At  this  critical  point  the  historic  conversation  was 
interrupted  by  phenomena  in  the  hall  which  Lady 
Woldo  recognised  with  feverish  excitement.  Lord 
Woldo  had  safely  returned  from  Hyde  Park. 
Starting  up,  she  invited  Edward  Henry  to  wait  a 
little.  A  few  moments  later  they  were  bending  over 
the  infant  together,  and  Edward  Henry  was  offering 
his  views  on  the  cause  and  cure  of  rash. 

VII. 

Early  on  the  same  afternoon  Edward  Henry 
managed  by  a  somewhat  excessive  obstreperousness 


210  THE  OLD  ADAM 

to  penetrate  once  more  into  the  private  room  of  Mr. 
Slosson,  senior,  who  received  him  in  silence. 

He  passed  a  document  to  Mr.  Slosson. 

"  It's  only  a  copy,"  he  said,  "  but  the  original  is 
in  my  pocket,  and  to-morrow  it  will  be  duly  stamped. 
I'll  give  you  the  original  in  exchange  for  the 
stamped  lease  of  my  Piccadilly  Circus  plot  of  land. 
You  know  the  money  is  waiting." 

Mr.  Slosson  perused  the  document;  and  it  was 
certainly  to  his  credit  that  he  did  so  without  any 
superficial  symptoms  of  dismay. 

"  What  will  Mr.  Wrissell  and  the  Woldo  family 
say  about  that,  do  you  think? "  asked  Edward 
Henry. 

"  Lady  Woldo  will  never  be  allowed  to  carry  it 
out,"  said  Mr.  Slosson. 

"Who's  going  to  stop  her?  She  must  carry  it 
out.  She  wants  to  carry  it  out.  She's  dying  to 
carry  it  out.  Moreover,  I  shall  communicate  it  to 
the  papers  to-night  —  unless  you  and  I  come  to  an 
arrangement.  And  if  by  any  chance  she  doesn't 
carry  it  out  —  well,  there'll  be  a  fine  society  action 
about  it,  you  can  bet  your  boots,  Mr.  Slosson." 

The  document  was  a  contract  made  between 
Blanche  Lady  Woldo  of  the  one  part  and  Edward 
Henry  Machin  of  the  other  part,  whereby  Blanche 
Lady  Woldo  undertook  to  appear  in  musical  comedy 
at  any  West  End  theatre  to  be  named  by  Edward 
Henry,  at  a  salary  of  two  hundred  pounds  a  week, 
for  the  period  of  six  months. 

"  You've  not  got  a  theatre,"  said  Mr.  Slosson. 


LORD  WOLDO  AND  LADY  WOLDO     211 

"  I  can  get  half  a  dozen  in  an  hour  —  with  that 
contract  in  my  hand,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

And  he  knew  from  Mr.  Slosson's  face  that  he  had 
won. 

VIII. 

That  evening,  feeling  that  he  had  earned  a  little 
recreation,  he  went  to  the  Empire  Theatre  —  not 
in  Hanbridge,  but  in  Leicester  Square,  London. 
The  lease,  with  a  prodigious  speed  hitherto  unknown 
at  Slossons,  had  been  drawn  up,  engrossed,  and  exe- 
cuted. The  Piccadilly  Circus  land  was  his  for  sixty- 
four  years. 

"  And  I've  got  the  old  chapel  pulled  down  for 
nothing,"  he  said  to  himself. 

He  was  rather  happy  as  he  wandered  about  amid 
the  brilliance  of  the  Empire  Promenade.  But  after 
half  an  hour  of  such  exercise,  and  of  vain  efforts 
to  see  or  hear  what  was  afoot  on  the  stage,  he  began 
to  feel  rather  lonely.  Then  it  was  that  he  caught 
sight  of  Mr.  Alloyd  the  architect,  also  lonely. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Alloyd  curtly,  with  a  sardonic 
smile,  "  they've  telephoned  me  all  about  it.  I've 
seen  Mr.  Wrissell.  Just  my  luck!  So  you're  the 
man!  He  pointed  you  out  to  me  this  morning. 
My  design  for  that  church  would  have  knocked  the 
West  End!  Of  course  Mr.  Wrissell  will  pay  me 
compensation,  but  that's  not  the  same  thing.  I 
wanted  the  advertisement  of  the  building.  .  .  .  Just 
my  luck!  Have  a  drink,  will  you?  " 

Edward  Henry  ultimately  went  with  the  plaintive 


212  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Mr.  Alloyd  to  his  rooms  in  Adelphi  Terrace.  He 
quitted  those  rooms  at  something  after  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  He  had  practically  given  Mr. 
Alloyd  a  definite  commission  to  design  the  Regent 
Theatre.  Already  he  was  practically  the  proprietor 
of  a  first-class  theatre  in  the  West  End  of  London  I 
"  I  wonder  whether  Master  Seven  Sachs  could 
have  bettered  my  day's  work  to-day!"  he  reflected 
as  he  got  into  a  taxicab.  He  had  dismissed  his 
electric  brougham  earlier  in  the  evening.  "  I  doubt 
if  even  Master  Seven  Sachs  himself  wouldn't  be 
proud  of  my  little  scheme  in  Eaton  Square !  "  said 
he.  ...  "  Wilkins's  Hotel,  please,  driver." 


THE  OLD  ADAM 

PART  II 


CHAPTER  VII 

CORNER-STONE 
I. 

ON  a  morning  in  spring  Edward  Henry  got 
out  of  an  express  at  Euston,  which  had 
come,  not  from  the  Five  Towns,  but  from 
Birmingham.  Having  on  the  previous  day  been 
called  to  Birmingham  on  local  and  profitable  busi- 
ness, he  had  found  it  convenient  to  spend  the  night 
there  and  telegraph  home  that  London  had  sum- 
moned him.  It  was  in  this  unostentatious,  this  half- 
furtive  fashion,  that  his  visits  to  London  now  usu- 
ally occurred.  Not  that  he  was  afraid  of  his  wife! 
Not  that  he  was  afraid  even  of  his  mother!  Oh, 
no!  He  was  merely  rather  afraid  of  himself, —  of 
his  own  opinion  concerning  the  metropolitan,  non- 
local, speculative,  and  perhaps  unprofitable  business 
to  which  he  was  committed.  The  fact  was  that  he 
could  scarcely  look  his  women  in  the  face  when  he 
mentioned  London.  He  spoke  vaguely  of  "  real 
estate  "  enterprise,  and  left  it  at  that.  The  women 
made  no  enquiries;  they  too,  left  it  at  that.  Never- 
theless. .  .  . 

The  episode  of  Wilkins's  was  buried,  but  it  was 
imperfectly    buried.     The    Five    Towns    definitely 

215 


2i 6  THE  OLD  ADAM 

knew  that  he  had  stayed  at  Wilkins's  for  a  bet,  and 
that  Brindley  had  discharged  the  bet.  And  rumours 
of  his  valet,  his  electric  brougham,  his  theatrical 
supper-parties,  had  mysteriously  hung  in  the  streets 
of  the  Five  Towns  like  a  strange  vapour.  Wisps  of 
the  strange  vapour  had  conceivably  entered  the  pre- 
cincts of  his  home,  but  nobody  ever  referred  to 
them;  nobody  ever  sniffed  apprehensively,  nor  asked 
anybody  else  whether  there  was  not  a  smell  of  fire. 
The  discreetness  of  the  silence  was  disconcerting. 
Happily  his  relations  with  that  angel,  his  wife,  were 
excellent.  She  had  carried  angelicism  so  far  as  not 
to  insist  on  the  destruction  of  Carlo;  and  she  had 
actually  applauded,  while  sticking  to  her  white  apron, 
the  sudden  and  startling  extravagances  of  his  toilette. 

On  the  whole,  though  little  short  of  thirty-five 
thousand  pounds  would  ultimately  be  involved, — 
not  to  speak  of  liability  of  nearly  three  thousand  a 
year  for  sixty-four  years  for  ground-rent, —  Edward 
Henry  was  not  entirely  gloomy  as  to  his  prospects. 
He  was  indubitably  thinner  in  girth;  novel  problems 
and  anxieties,  and  the  constant  annoyance  of  being  in 
complete  technical  ignorance  of  his  job,  had  removed 
some  flesh.  (And  not  a  bad  thing  either!)  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  his  chin  exhibited  one  proof  that 
life  was  worth  living,  and  that  he  had  discovered 
new  faith  in  life  and  a  new  conviction  of  youthful- 
ness. 

He  had  shaved  off  his  beard. 

"  Well,  sir!  "  a  voice  greeted  him  full  of  hope  and 
cheer,  immediately  his  feet  touched  the  platform. 


CORNER-STONE  217 

It  was  the  voice  of  Mr.  Marrier.  Edward 
Henry  and  Mr.  Marrier  were  now  in  regular  rela- 
tions. Before  Edward  Henry  had  paid  his  final 
bill  at  Wilkins's  and  relinquished  his  valet  and  his 
electric  brougham,  and  disposed  forever  of  his 
mythical  "  man  "  on  board  the  Minnetonka,  and  got 
his  original  luggage  away  from  the  Hotel  Majestic, 
Mr.  Marrier  had  visited  him  and  made  a  certain 
proposition.  And  such  was  the  influence  of  Mr. 
Marrier's  incurable  smile,  and  of  his  solid  optimism, 
and  of  his  obvious  talent  for  getting  things  done 
on  the  spot  (as  witness  the  photography),  that  the 
proposition  had  been  accepted.  Mr.  Marrier  was 
now  Edward  Henry's  "  representative  "  in  London. 
At  the  Green  Room  Club  Mr.  Marrier  informed 
reliable  cronies  that  he  was  Edward  Henry's  "  con- 
fidential adviser."  At  the  Turk's  Head,  Han- 
bridge,  Edward  Henry  informed  reliable  cronies  that 
Mr.  Marrier  was  a  sort  of  clerk,  factotum,  or  maid 
of  all  work.  A  compromise  between  these  two 
very  different  conceptions  of  Mr.  Marrier's  position 
had  been  arrived  at  in  the  word  "  representative." 
The  real  truth  was  that  Edward  Henry  employed 
Mr.  Marrier  in  order  to  listen  to  Mr.  Marrier. 
He  turned  to  Mr.  Marrier  like  a  tap,  and  nourished 
himself  from  a  gushing  stream  of  useful  informa- 
tion concerning  the  theatrical  world.  Mr.  Marrier, 
quite  unconsciously,  was  bit  by  bit  remedying  Ed- 
ward Henry's  acute  ignorance. 

The  question  of  wages  had  caused  Edward 
Henry  some  apprehension.  He  had  learnt  in  a  cou- 


218  THE  OLD  ADAM 

pie  of  days  that  a  hundred  pounds  a  week  was  a 
trifle  on  the  stage.  He  had  soon  heard  of  per- 
formers who  worked  for  "  nominal "  salaries  of 
forty  and  fifty  a  week.  For  a  manager  twenty 
pounds  a  week  seemed  to  be  a  usual  figure.  But 
in  the  Five  Towns  three  pounds  a  week  is  regarded 
as  very  goodish  pay  for  any  subordinate,  and  Ed- 
ward Henry  could  not  rid  himself  all  at  once  of 
native  standards.  He  had  therefore,  with  dif- 
fidence, offered  three  pounds  a  week  to  the  aristo- 
cratic Marrier.  And  Mr.  Marrier  had  not  refused 
it,  nor  ceased  to  smile.  On  three  pounds  a  week 
he  haunted  the  best  restaurants,  taxicabs,  and  other 
resorts,  and  his  garb  seemed  always  to  be  smarter 
than  Edward  Henry's,  especially  in  such  details  as 
waistcoat  slips. 

Of  course  Mr.  Marrier  had  a  taxicab  waiting  ex- 
actly opposite  the  coach  from  which  Edward  Henry 
descended.  It  was  just  this  kind  of  efficient  atten- 
tion that  was  gradually  endearing  him  to  his  em- 
ployer. 

"  How  goes  it?  "  said  Edward  Henry  curtly,  as 
they  drove  down  to  the  Grand  Babylon  Hotel,  now 
Edward  Henry's  regular  headquarters  in  London. 

Said  Mr.  Marrier: 

"  I  suppose  you've  seen  another  of  'em's  got  a 
knighthood?  " 

"No,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "Who?"  He 
knew  that  by  "  'em  "  Mr.  Marrier  meant  the  great 
race  of  actor-managers. 

"  Gerald  Pompey.     Something  to  do  with  him  be- 


CORNER-STONE  219 

ing  a  sheriff  in  the  City,  you  know.  I  bet  you  what 
you  laike  he  went  in  for  the  Common  Council  simply 
in  order  to  get  even  with  old  Pilgrim.  In  fact,  I 
know  he  did.  And  now  a  foundation-stone-laying 
has  dan  it  I  " 

"  A  foundation-stone-laying?  " 

"  Yes.  The  new  City  Guild's  building,  you 
knaow.  Royalty  —  Temple  Bar  business  —  sheriffs 
—  knighthood.  There  you  are  1 " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Edward  Henry.  And  then  after  a 
pause  added:  "Pity  we  can't  have  a  foundation- 
stone-laying  !  " 

"  By  the  way,  old  Pilgrim's  in  the  deuce  and  all 
of  a  haole,  I  heah.  It's  all  over  the  Clubs."  (In 
speaking  of  the  Clubs,  Mr.  Marrier  always  pro- 
nounced them  with  a  Capital  letter.)  "  I  told  you 
he  was  going  to  sail  from  Tilbury  on  his  world-tour, 
and  have  a  grand  embarking  ceremony  and  seeing- 
off !  Just  laike  him !  Greatest  advertiser  the  world 
ever  saw !  Well,  since  that  P.  and  O.  boat  was  lost 
on  the  Goodwins,  Cora  Pryde  has  absolutely  de- 
clined to  sail  from  Tilbury.  Ab-so-lute-ly !  Swears 
she'll  join  the  steamer  at  Marseilles.  And  Pilgrim 
has  got  to  go  with  her,  too." 

"Why?" 

;<  Well,  even  Pilgrim  couldn't  have  a  grand  em- 
barking ceremony  without  his  leading  lady!  He's 
furious,  I  hear." 

"  Why  shouldn't  he  go  with  her?  " 

''Why  not?  Because  he's  formally  announced 
his  grand  embarking  ceremony!  Invitations  are  out. 


220  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Barge  from  London  Bridge  to  Tilbury,  and  so  on! 
What  he  wants  is  a  good  excuse  for  giving  it  up. 
He'd  never  be  able  to  admit  that  he'd  had  to  give 
it  up  because  Cora  Pryde  made  him!  He  wants 
to  save  his  face." 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry  absently,  "  it's  a 
queer  world.  You've  got  me  a  room  at  the  Grand 
Bab?" 

"Rather!" 

"  Then  let's  go  and  have  a  look  at  the  Regent 
first,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

No  sooner  had  he  expressed  the  wish  than  Mr. 
Marrier's  neck  curved  round  through  the  window, 
and  with  three  words  to  the  chauffeur  he  had  de- 
flected the  course  of  the  taxi. 

Edward  Henry  had  an  almost  boyish  curiosity 
about  his  edifice.  He  would  go  and  give  it  a  glance 
at  the  oddest  moments.  And  just  now  he  had  a 
swift  and  violent  desire  to  behold  it.  With  all 
speed  the  taxi  shot  down  Shaftesbury  Avenue  and 
swerved  to  the  right.  .  .  . 

There  it  was!  Yes,  it  really  existed,  the  incredi- 
ble edifice  of  his  caprice  and  of  Mr.  Alloyd's  con- 
structive imagination!  It  had  already  reached  a 
height  of  fifteen  feet;  and,  dozens  of  yards  above 
that,  cranes  dominated  the  sunlit  air,  swinging  loads 
of  bricks  in  the  azure;  and  scores  of  workmen 
crawled  about  beneath  these  monsters.  And  he,  Ed- 
ward Henry,  by  a  single  act  of  volition  was  the  au- 
thor of  it!  He  slipped  from  the  taxi,  penetrated 
within  the  wall  of  hoardings,  and  gazed,  just  gazed! 


CORNER-STONE  221 

A  wondrous  thing  —  human  enterprise  1  And  also 
a  terrifying  thing !  .  .  .  That  building  might  be  the 
tomb  of  his  reputation.  On  the  other  hand  it 
might  be  the  seed  of  a  new  renown  compared  to 
which  the  first  would  be  as  naught!  He  turned  his 
eyes  away,  in  fear  —  yes,  in  fear! 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  "  will  Sir  John  Pilgrim  be  out 
of  bed  yet,  d'ye  think?  "  He  glanced  at  his  watch. 
The  hour  was  about  eleven. 

"  He'll  be  at  breakfast." 

"  I'm  going  to  see  him,  then.  What's  his  ad- 
dress?" 

'  Twenty-five  Queen  Anne's  Gate.  But  do  you 
knaow  him?  I  do.  Shall  I  cam  with  you?  " 

"  No,"  said  Edward  Henry  shortly.  "  You  go 
on  with  my  bags  to  the  Grand  Bab,  and  get  me  an- 
other taxi.  I'll  see  you  in  my  room  at  the  hotel  at 
a  quarter  to  one.  Eh?  " 

"Rather!"  agreed  Mr.  Marrier,  submissive. 

II. 

"  Sole  proprietor  of  the  Regent  Theatre." 
These  were  the  words  which  Edward  Henry 
wrote  on  a  visiting-card,  and  which  procured  him 
immediate  admittance  to  the  unique  spectacle  —  re- 
puted to  be  one  of  the  most  enthralling  sights  in 
London  —  of  Sir  John  Pilgrim  at  breakfast. 

In  a  very  spacious  front  room  of  his  flat  (so  cele- 
brated for  its  Gobelins  tapestries  and  its  truly  won- 
derful parquet  flooring)  sat  Sir  John  Pilgrim  at  a 
large  hexagonal  mahogany  table.  At  one  side  of 


222  THE  OLD  ADAM 

the  table  a  small  square  of  white  diaper  was  ar- 
ranged, and  on  this  square  were  an  apparatus  for 
boiling  eggs,  another  for  making  toast,  and  a  third 
for  making  coffee.  Sir  John,  with  the  assistance 
of  a  young  Chinaman  and  a  fox-terrier  who  flitted 
around  him,  was  indeed  eating  and  drinking.  The 
vast  remainder  of  the  table  was  gleamingly  bare, 
save  for  newspapers  and  letters,  opened  and  un- 
opened, which  Sir  John  tossed  about.  Opposite  to 
him  sat  a  secretary  whose  fluffy  hair,  neat  white 
chemisette,  and  tender  years  gave  her  an  appearance 
of  helpless  fragility  in  front  of  the  powerful  and 
ruthless  celebrity.  Sir  John's  crimson-socked  left 
foot  stuck  out  from  the  table,  emerging  from  the  left 
half  of  a  lovely  new  pair  of  brown  trousers,  and 
resting  on  a  piece  of  white  paper.  Before  this 
white  paper  knelt  a  man  in  a  frock-coat,  who  was 
drawing  an  outline  on  the  paper  round  Sir  John's 
foot. 

"You  are  a  bootmaker,  aren't  you?"  Sir  John 
was  saying  airily. 

"  Yes,  Sir  John." 

"  Excuse  me !  "  said  Sir  John.  "  I  only  wanted 
to  be  sure.  I  fancied  from  the  way  you  caressed 
my  corn  with  that  pencil  that  you  might  be  an  artist 
on  one  of  the  illustrated  papers.  My  mistake !  " 
He  was  bending  down.  Then  suddenly  straighten- 
ing himself  he  called  across  the  room :  "  I  say, 
Givington,  did  you  notice  my  pose  then  —  my  ex- 
pression as  I  used  the  word  *  caressed  '  ?  How- 
would  that  do?" 


CORNER-STONE  223 

And  Edward  Henry  now  observed  in  a  corner  of 
the  room  a  man  standing  in  front  of  an  easel  and 
sketching  somewhat  grossly  thereon  in  charcoal. 
This  man  said: 

"  If  you  won't  bother  me,  Sir  John,  I  won't  bother 
you." 

"  Ah  !  Givington !  Ah  !  Givington !  "  mur- 
mured Sir  John  still  more  airily  —  at  breakfast  he 
was  either  airy  or  nothing.  "  You're  getting  on  in 
the  world.  You  aren't  merely  an  A,  R.  A. —  you're 
making  money.  A  year  ago  you'd  never  have  had 
the  courage  to  address  me  in  that  tone.  Well,  I 
sincerely  congratulate  you.  .  .  .  Here,  Snip,  here's 
my  dentist's  bill  —  worry  it,  worry  it  I  Good  dog ! 
Worry  it!" 

(The  dog  growled  now  over  a  torn  document  be- 
neath the  table.) 

"  Miss  Taft,  you  might  see  that  a  communique 
goes  out  to  the  effect  that  I  gave  my  first  sitting  to 
Mr.  Saracen  Givington,  A.  R.  A.,  this  morning. 
The  activities  of  Mr.  Saracen  Givington  are  of  in- 
terest to  the  world,  and  rightly  so!  You'd  better 
come  round  to  the  other  side  for  the  right  foot,  Mr. 
Bootmaker.  The  journey  is  simply  nothing." 

And  then,  and  not  till  then,  did  Sir  John  Pilgrim 
turn  his  large  and  handsome  middle-aged  blond  face 
in  the  direction  of  Alderman  Edward  Henry 
Machin. 

"  Pardon  my  curiosity,"  said  Sir  John,  "  but  who 
are  you?  " 

"My    name    is    Machin  —  Alderman    Machin," 


224  THE  OLD  ADAM 

said  Edward  Henry.  "  I  sent  up  my  card  and  you 
asked  me  to  come  in." 

"  Ha ! "  Sir  John  exclaimed,  seizing  an  egg. 
"Will  you  crack  an  egg  with  me,  Alderman?  I 
can  crack  an  egg  with  anybody." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  I'll  be  very 
glad  to."  And  he  advanced  towards  the  table. 

Sir  John  hesitated.  The  fact  was  that,  though 
he  dissembled  his  dismay  with  marked  histrionic 
skill,  he  was  unquestionably  overwhelmed  by  aston- 
ishment. In  the  course  of  years  he  had  airily  in- 
vited hundreds  of  callers  to  crack  an  egg  with  him, 
—  the  joke  was  one  of  his  favourites, —  but  nobody 
had  ever  ventured  to  accept  the  invitation. 

"  Chung,"  he  said  weakly,  "  lay  a  cover  for  the 
alderman." 

Edward  Henry  sat  down  quite  close  to  Sir  John. 
He  could  discern  all  the  details  of  Sir  John's  face 
and  costume.  The  tremendous  celebrity  was  wear- 
ing a  lounge  suit  somewhat  like  his  own,  but  instead 
of  the  coat  —  he  had  a  blue  dressing-jacket  with 
crimson  facings;  the  sleeves  ended  in  rather  long 
wristbands,  which  were  unfastened,  the  opal  cuff- 
links drooping  each  from  a  single  hole.  Perhaps 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  Edward  Henry  intimately 
understood  what  idiosyncratic  elegance  was.  He 
could  almost  feel  the  emanating  personality  of  Sir 
John  Pilgrim,  and  he  was  intimidated  by  it;  he  was 
intimidated  by  its  hardness,  its  harshness,  its  terrific 
egotism,  its  utterly  brazen  quality.  Sir  John's 
glance  was  the  most  purely  arrogant  that  Edward 


CORNER-STONE  225 

Henry  had  ever  encountered.  It  knew  no  reticence. 
And  Edward  Henry  thought:  "When  this  chap 
dies  he'll  want  to  die  in  public,  with  the  reporters 
round  his  bed  and  a  private  secretary  taking  down 
messages." 

"  This  is  rather  a  lark,"  said  Sir  John,  recovering. 

"  It  is,"  said  Edward  Henry,  who  now  felicitously 
perceived  that  a  lark  it  indeed  was,  and  ought  to  be 
treated  as  such.  "  It  shall  be  a  larkl  "  he  said  to 
himself. 

Sir  John  dictated  a  letter  to  Miss  Taft,  and  be- 
fore the  letter  was  finished  the  grinning  Chung  had 
laid  a  place  for  Edward  Henry,  and  Snip  had  in- 
spected him  and  passed  him  for  one  of  the  right 
sort. 

"Had  I  said  that  this  is  rather  a  lark?"  Sir 
John  enquired,  the  letter  accomplished. 

"  I  forget,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

"  Because  I  don't  like  to  say  the  same  thing  twice 
over  if  I  can  help  it.  It  is  a  lark  though,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  Edward  Henry,  decapitating 
an  egg.  "  I  only  hope  that  I'm  not  interrupting 
you." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Sir  John.  "  Breakfast 
is  my  sole  free  time.  In  another  half-hour,  I  assure 
you,  I  shall  be  attending  to  three  or  four  things  at 
once."  He  leant  over  towards  Edward  Henry. 
"  But  between  you  and  me,  Alderman,  quite  pri- 
vately, if  it  isn't  a  rude  question,  what  did  you  come 
for?" 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  as  I  wrote  on  my 


226  THE  OLD  ADAM 

card,  I'm  the  sole  proprietor  of  the  Regent  The- 
atre—" 

"  But  there  is  no  Regent  Theatre,"  Sir  John  in- 
terrupted him. 

"No;  not  strictly.  But  there  will  be.  It's  in 
course  of  construction.  We're  up  to  the  first  floor." 

"  Dear  me!     A  suburban  theatre,  no  doubt?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Sir  John,"  cried  Edward 
Henry,  "  that  you  haven't  noticed  it.  It's  within 
a  few  yards  of  Piccadilly  Circus." 

"Really!"  said  Sir  John.  "You  see  my  the- 
atre is  in  Lower  Regent  Street,  and  I  never  go  to 
Piccadilly  Circus.  I  make  a  point  of  not  going  to 
Piccadilly  Circus.  Miss  Taft,  how  long  is  it  since 
I  went  to  Piccadilly  Circus?  Forgive  me,  young 
woman,  I  was  forgetting  —  you  aren't  old  enough  to 
remember.  Well,  never  mind  details.  .  .  .  And 
what  is  there  remarkable  about  the  Regent  The- 
atre, Alderman?  " 

"  I  intend  it  to  be  a  theatre  of  the  highest  class, 
Sir  John,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  Nothing  but  the 
very  best  will  be  seen  on  its  boards." 

"  That's  not  remarkable,  Alderman.  We're  all 
like  that.  Haven't  you  noticed  it?  " 

"  Then,  secondly,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  I  am 
the  sole  proprietor.  I  have  no  financial  backers, 
no  mortgages,  no  partners.  I  have  made  no  con- 
tracts with  anybody." 

"  That,"  said  Sir  John,  "  is  not  unremarkable. 
In  fact,  many  persons  who  do  not  happen  to  possess 


CORNER-STONE  227 

my  own  robust  capacity  for  belief  might  not  credit 
your  statement." 

"  And  thirdly,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  every 
member  of  the  audience  —  even  in  the  boxes,  the 
most  expensive  seats  —  will  have  a  full  view  of  the 
whole  of  the  stage  —  or,  in  the  alternative,  at 
matinees,  a  full  view  of  a  lady's  hat." 

"  Alderman,"  said  Sir  John  gravely,  "  before  I 
offer  you  another  egg,  let  me  warn  you  against  carry- 
ing remarkableness  too  far.  You  may  be  regarded 
as  eccentric  if  you  go  on  like  that.  Some  people,  I 
am  told,  don't  want  a  view  of  the  stage." 

"  Then  they  had  better  not  come  to  my  theatre," 
said  Edward  Henry. 

"  All  which,"  commented  Sir  John,  "  gives  me  no 
clue  whatever  to  the  reason  why  you  are  sitting  here 
by  my  side  and  calmly  eating  my  eggs  and  toast  and 
drinking  my  coffee." 

Admittedly,  Edward  Henry  was  nervous.  Ad- 
mittedly, he  was  a  provincial  in  the  presence  of  one 
of  the  most  illustrious  personages  of  the  empire. 
Nevertheless  he  controlled  his  nervousness,  and  re- 
flected: 

"  Nobody  else  from  the  Five  Towns  would  or 
could  have  done  what  I  am  doing.  Moreover,  this 
chap  is  a  mountebank.  In  the  Five  Towns  they 
would  kowtow  to  him,  but  they  would  laugh  at  him. 
They  would  mighty  soon  add  him  up.  Why  should 
I  be  nervous?  I'm  as  good  as  he  is."  He  finished 
with  the  thought  which  has  inspired  many  a  timid 


228  THE  OLD  ADAM 

man  with  new  courage  in  a  desperate  crisis:  "  The 
fellow  can't  eat  me." 

Then  he  said  aloud: 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,  Sir  John.'* 

"One?" 

"  One.  Are  you  the  head  of  the  theatrical  pro- 
fession, or  is  Sir  Gerald  Pompey?  " 

"Sir  Gerald  Pompey?" 

"Sir  Gerald  Pompey.  Haven't  you  seen  the 
papers  this  morning?  " 

Sir  John  Pilgrim  turned  pale.  Springing  up,  he 
seized  the  topmost  of  an  undisturbed  pile  of  daily 
papers  and  feverishly  opened  it. 

"  Bah !  "  he  muttered. 

He  was  continually  thus  imitating  his  own  be- 
haviour on  the  stage.  The  origin  of  his  renowned 
breakfasts  lay  in  the  fact  that  he  had  once  played 
the  part  of  a  millionaire  ambassador  who  juggled 
at  breakfast  with  his  own  affairs  and  the  affairs  of 
the  world.  The  stage  breakfast  of  a  millionaire 
ambassador  created  by  a  playwright  on  the  verge  of 
bankruptcy  had  appealed  to  his  imagination  and  in- 
fluenced all  the  mornings  of  his  life. 

"  They've  done  it  just  to  irritate  me  as  I'm  start- 
ing off  on  my  ^world's  tour,"  he  muttered,  coursing 
round  the  table.  Then  he  stopped  and  gazed  at 
Edward  Henry.  "  This  is  a  political  knighthood," 
said  he.  "  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  stage. 
It  is  not  like  my  knighthood,  is  it?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  Edward  Henry  agreed.  "  But 
you  know  how  people  will  talk,  Sir  John.  People 


CORNER-STONE  229 

will  be  going  about  this  very  morning  and  saying 
that  Sir  Gerald  is  at  last  the  head  of  the  theatrical 
profession.  I  came  here  for  your  authoritative 
opinion.  I  know  you're  unbiased." 

Sir  John  resumed  his  chair. 

"  As  for  Pompey's  qualifications  as  a  head,"  he 
murmured,  "  I  know  nothing  of  them.  I  fancy  his 
heart  is  excellent.  I  only  saw  him  twice,  once  in 
his  own  theatre,  and  once  in  Bond  Street.  I  should 
be  inclined  to  say  that  on  the  stage  he  looks  more 
like  a  gentleman  than  any  gentleman  ought  to  look, 
and  that  in  the  street  he  might  be  mistaken  for  an 
actor.  .  .  .  How  will  that  suit  you?  " 

"  It's  a  clue,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

"  Alderman,"  exclaimed  Sir  John,  "  I  believe  that 
if  I  didn't  keep  a  firm  hand  on  myself  I  should  soon 
begin  to  like  you!  Have  another  cup  of  coffee. 
Chung!  .  .  .  Good-bye,  Bootmaker,  good-bye!" 

"  I  only  want  to  know  for  certain  who  is  the 
head,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  because  I  mean  to  in- 
vite the  head  of  the  theatrical  profession  to  lay  the 
corner-stone  of  my  new  theatre." 

"Ah!" 

'  When  do  you  start  on  your  world's  tour,  Sir 
John?" 

"  I  leave  Tilbury  with  my  entire  company,  scenery 
and  effects,  on  the  morning  of  Tuesday  week,  by  the 
Kandahar.  I  shall  play  first  in  Cairo." 

"How  awkward!"  said  Edward  Henry.  "I 
meant  to  ask  you  to  lay  the  stone  on  the  very  next 
afternoon  —  Wednesday,  that  is!  " 


230  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes,  Sir  John.  The  ceremony  will  be  a  very 
original  affair  —  very  original!  " 

"  A  foundation-stone-laying !  "  mused  Sir  John. 
"  But  if  you're  already  up  to  the  first  floor,  how  can 
you  be  laying  the  foundation-stone  on  Wednesday 
week?" 

"  I  didn't  say  foundation-stone.  I  said  corner- 
stone," Edward  Henry  corrected  him.  "  An  entire 
novelty!  That's  why  we  can't  be  ready  before 
Wednesday  week." 

"  And  you  want  to  advertise  your  house  by  get- 
ting the  head  of  the  profession  to  assist?  " 

"  That  is  exactly  my  idea." 

;t  Well,"  said  Sir  John.  "  Whatever  else  you 
may  lack,  Mr.  Alderman,  you  are  not  lacking  in 
nerve,  if  you  expect  to  succeed  in  that." 

Edward  Henry  smiled. 

"  I  have  already  heard,  in  a  round-about  way," 
he  replied,  "  that  Sir  Gerald  Pompey  would  not 
be  unwilling  to  officiate.  My  only  difficulty  is  that 
I'm  a  truthful  man  by  nature.  Whoever  officiates, 
I  shall  of  course  have  to  have  him  labelled,  in 
my  own  interests,  as  the  head  of  the  theatrical  pro- 
fession, and  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  that  isn't 
true." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Now,  Sir  John,  couldn't  you  stay  a  day  or  two 
longer  in  London  and  join  the  ship  at  Marseilles  in- 
stead of  going  on  board  at  Tilbury?  " 

"  But  I  have  made  all  my  arrangements.     The 


CORNER-STONE  231 

whole  world  knows  that  I  am  going  on  board  at 
Tilbury." 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  a  servant  an- 
nounced : 

"  Mr.  Carlo  Trent." 

Sir  John  Pilgrim  rushed  like  a  locomotive  to  the 
threshold  and  seized  both  Carlo  Trent's  hands  with 
such  a  violence  of  welcome  that  Carlo  Trent's  eye- 
glass fell  out  of  his  eye  and  the  purple  ribbon 
dangled  to  his  waist. 

"  Come  in,  come  in!  "  said  Sir  John.  "And  be- 
gin to  read  at  once.  I've  been  looking  out  of  the 
window  for  you  for  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Alderman,  this  is  Mr.  Carlo  Trent,  the  well-known 
dramatic  poet.  Trent,  this  is  one  of  the  greatest 
geniuses  in  London.  .  .  .  Ah!  You  know  each 
other?  It's  not  surprising!  No,  don't  stop  to 
shake  hands.  Sit  down  here,  Trent.  Sit  down  on 
this  chair.  .  .  .  Here,  Snip,  take  his  hat.  Worry 
it!  Worry  it!  Now,  Trent,  don't  read  to  me.  It 
might  make  you  nervous  and  hurried.  Read  to 
Miss  Taft  and  Chung,  and  to  Mr.  Givington  over 
there.  Imagine  that  they  are  the  great  and  en- 
lightened public.  You  have  imagination,  haven't 
you,  being  a  poet?  " 

Sir  John  had  accomplished  the  change  of  mood 
with  the  rapidity  of  a  transformation-scene  —  in 
which  form  of  art,  by  the  way,  he  was  a  great  adept. 

Carlo  Trent,  somewhat  breathless,  took  a  manu- 
script from  his  pocket,  opened  it,  and  announced: 
"  The  Orient  Pearl." 


232  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Oh!  "  breathed  Edward  Henry. 

For  some  thirty  minutes  Edward  Henry  listened  to 
hexameters,  the  first  he  had  ever  heard.  The  effect 
of  them  on  his  moral  organism  was  worse  even  than 
he  had  expected.  He  glanced  about  at  the  other 
auditors.  Givington  had  opened  a  box  of  tubes  and 
was  spreading  colours  on  his  palette.  The  China- 
man's eyes  were  closed  while  his  face  still  grinned. 
Snip  was  asleep  on  the  parquet.  Miss  Taft  bit  the 
end  of  a  pencil  with  her  agreeable  teeth.  Sir  John 
Pilgrim  lay  at  full  length  on  a  sofa,  occasionally 
lifting  his  legs.  Edward  Henry  despaired  of  help 
in  his  great  need.  But  just  as  his  desperation  was 
becoming  too  acute  to  be  borne,  Carlo  Trent  ejacu- 
lated the  word  "  Curtain."  It  was  the  first  word 
that  Edward  Henry  had  clearly  understood. 

"  That's  the  first  act,"  said  Carlo  Trent,  wiping 
his  face.  Snip  awakened. 

Edward  Henry  rose  and,  in  the  hush,  tiptoed 
round  the  sofa. 

"  Good-bye,  Sir  John,"  he  whispered. 

"You're  not  going?" 

"  I  am,  Sir  John." 

The  head  of  his  profession  sat  up.  "  How  right 
you  are!  "  said  he.  "  How  right  you  are.  Trent, 
I  knew  from  the  first  words  it  wouldn't  do.  It 
lacks  colour.  I  want  something  more  crimson,  more 
like  the  brighter  parts  of  this  jacket,  something — " 
He  waved  hands  in  the  air.  '  The  alderman  agrees 
with  me.  He's  going.  Don't  trouble  to  read  any 


CORNER-STONE  233 

more,  Trent.  But  drop  in  any  time  —  any  time. 
Chung,  what  o'clock  is  it?" 

"  It  is  nearly  noon,"  said  Edward  Henry  in  the 
tone  of  an  old  friend.  "  Well,  I'm  sorry  you  can't 
oblige  me,  Sir  John.  I'm  off  to  see  Sir  Gerald  Pom- 
pey  now." 

"  But  who  says  I  can't  oblige  you  ?  "  protested 
Sir  John.  "  Who  knows  what  sacrifices  I  would  not 
make  in  the  highest  interests  of  the  profession?  Al- 
derman, you  jump  to  conclusions  with  the  agility  of 
an  acrobat,  but  they  are  false  conclusions!  Miss 
Taft,  the  telephone!  Chung,  my  coat!  Good-bye 
Trent,  good-bye !  " 

An  hour  later  Edward  Henry  met  Mr.  Marrier 
at  the  Grand  Babylon  Hotel. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Marrier,  "you  are  the 
greatest  man  that  ever  lived!  " 

"Why?" 

Mr.  Marrier  showed  him  the  stop-press  news  of 
a  penny  evening  paper,  which  read:  "Sir  John 
Pilgrim  has  abandoned  his  ceremonious  departure 
from  Tilbury  in  order  to  lay  the  corner-stone  of  the 
new  Regent  Theatre  on  Wednesday  week.  He  and 
Miss  Cora  Pryde  will  join  the  Kandahar  at  Mar- 
seilles." 

"  You  needn't  do  any  advertaysing,"  said  Mr. 
Marrier.  "  Pilgrim  will  do  all  the  advertaysing 
for  you." 


234  THE  OLD  ADAM 

in. 

Edward  Henry  and  Mr.  Marrier  worked 
together  admirably  that  afternoon  on  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  corner-stone-laying.  And  —  such 
was  the  interaction  of  their  separate  enthusiasms 
—  it  soon  became  apparent  that  all  London  (in 
the  only  right  sense  of  the  word  "  all ")  must 
and  would  be  at  the  ceremony.  Characteristically, 
Mr.  Marrier  happened  to  have  a  list  or  catalogue 
of  all  London  in  his  pocket,  and  Edward  Henry  ap- 
preciated him  more  than  ever.  But  towards  four 
o'clock  Mr.  Marrier  annoyed  and  even  somewhat 
alarmed  Edward  Henry  by  a  mysterious  change  of 
mien.  His  assured  optimism  slipped  away  from 
him.  He  grew  uneasy,  darkly  preoccupied,  and  in- 
efficient. At  last  when  the  clock  in  the  room  struck 
four,  and  Edward  Henry  failed  to  hear  it,  Mr. 
Marrier  said: 

"  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  excuse 


me  now." 


'Why?" 

"  I  told  you  I  had  an  appointment  for  tea  at 
four." 

"Did  you?  What  is  it?"  Edward  Henry  de- 
manded with  an  employer's  instinctive  assumption 
that  souls  as  well  as  brains  can  be  bought  for  such 
sums  as  three  pounds  a  week. 

"  I  have  a  lady  coming  to  tea,  here;  that  is,  down- 
stairs." 


CORNER-STONE  235 

"In  this  hotel?" 

"  Yes." 

"Who  is  it?"  Edward  Henry  pursued  lightly, 
for  though  he  appreciated  Mr.  Marrier,  he  also 
despised  him.  However,  he  found  the  grace  to  add: 
"  May  one  ask?  " 

"  It's  Miss  Elsie  April." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Marrier,"  complained  Ed- 
ward Henry,  "  that  you've  known  Miss  Elsie  April 
all  these  months  and  never  told  me?  .  .  .  There 
aren't  two,  I  suppose?  It's  the  cousin  or  something 
of  Rose  Euclid?" 

Mr.  Marrier  nodded.  "  The  fact  is,"  he  said, 
"  she  and  I  are  joint  honorary  organising  secre- 
taries for  the  annual  conference  of  the  Azure  So- 
ciety. You  know,  it  leads  the  New  Thought 
movement  in  England." 

"  You  never  told  me  that  either." 

"  Didn't  I,  sir?  I  didn't  think  it  would  interest 
you.  Besides,  both  Miss  April  and  I  are  compar- 
atively new  members." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Edward  Henry  with  all  the  canny 
provincial's  conviction  of  his  own  superior  shrewd- 
ness; and  he  repeated,  so  as  to  intensify  this  con- 
viction and  impress  it  on  others,  "  Oh  I  "  In  the 
undergrowth  of  his  mind  was  the  thought:  "  How 
dare  this  man,  whose  brains  belong  to  me,  be  the 
organising  secretary  of  something  that  I  don't  know 
anything  about  and  don't  want  to  know  anything 
about?" 


236  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Marrier  modestly. 

11 1  say,"  Edward  Henry  enquired  warmly,  with 
an  impulsive  gesture,  "  who  is  she?  " 

"Who  is  she?"  repeated  Mr.  Marrier  blankly. 

"Yes.     What  does  she  do?" 

"  Doesn't  do  anything,"  said  Mr.  Marrier. 
"  Very  good  amateur  actress.  Goes  about  a  great 
deal.  Her  mother  was  on  the  stage.  Married  a 
wealthy  wholesale  corset-maker." 

"  Who  did  ?  Miss  April  ?  "  Edward  Henry  had 
a  twinge. 

"No;  her  mother.  Both  parents  are  dead,  and 
Miss  April  has  an  income  —  a  considerable  in- 
come." 

"  What  do  you  call  considerable  ?  " 

"  Five  or  six  thousand  a  year." 

"  The  deuce !  "  murmured  Edward  Henry. 

"  May  have  lost  a  bit  of  it,  of  course,"  Mr. 
Marrier  hedged.  "  But  not  much,  not  much !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  smiling.  "  What 
about  my  tea?  Am  I  to  have  tea  all  by  myself?" 

"Will  you  come  down  and  meet  her?"  Mr. 
Marrier's  expression  approached  the  wistful. 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  it's  an  idea,  isn't 
it?  Why  should  I  be  the  only  person  in  London 
who  doesn't  know  Miss  Elsie  April?" 

It  was  ten  minutes  past  four  when  they  descended 
into  the  electric  publicity  of  the  Grand  Babylon. 
Amid  the  music  and  the  rattle  of  crockery  and  the 
gliding  waiters  and  the  large  nodding  hats  that 


CORNER-STONE  237 

gathered  more  and  more  thickly  round  the  tables, 
there  was  no  sign  of  Elsie  April. 

"  She  may  have  been  and  gone  away  again,"  said 
Edward  Henry,  apprehensive. 

"  Oh,  no !  She  wouldn't  go  away."  Mr.  Mar- 
rier  was  positive. 

In  the  tone  of  a  man  with  an  income  of  two 
hundred  pounds  a  week  he  ordered  a  table  to  be 
prepared  for  three. 

At  ten  minutes  to  five  he  said: 

"  I  hope  she  hasn't  been  and  gone  away  again!  " 

Edward  Henry  began  to  be  gloomy  and  resent- 
ful. The  crowded  and  factitious  gaiety  of  the  place 
actually  annoyed  him.  If  Elsie  April  had  been  and 
gone  away  again,  he  objected  to  such  silly  feminine 
conduct.  If  she  was  merely  late,  he  equally  objected 
to  such  unconscionable  inexactitude.  He  blamed 
Mr.  Marrier.  He  considered  that  he  had  the  right 
to  blame  Mr.  Marrier  because  he  paid  him  three 
pounds  a  week.  And  he  very  badly  wanted  his  tea. 

Then  their  four  eyes,  which  for  forty  minutes 
had  scarcely  left  the  entrance  staircase,  were  re- 
warded. She  came  in  furs,  gleaming  white  kid 
gloves,  gold  chains,  a  gold  bag,  and  a  black  vel- 
vet hat. 

"  I'm  not  late,  am  I?  "  she  said  after  the  intro- 
duction. 

"  No,"  they  both  replied.  And  they  both  meant 
it.  For  she  was  like  fine  weather.  The  forty  min- 
utes of  waiting  were  forgotten,  expunged  from  the 


23  8  THE  OLD  ADAM 

records  of  time,  just  as  the  memory  of  a  month  of 
rain  is  obliterated  by  one  splendid  sunny  day. 

IV. 

Edward  Henry  enjoyed  the  tea,  which  was  bad, 
to  an  extraordinary  degree.  He  became  uplifted 
in  the  presence  of  Miss  Elsie  April;  whereas  Mr. 
Marrier,  strangely,  drooped  to  still  deeper  depths 
of  unaccustomed  inert  melancholy.  Edward  Henry 
decided  that  she  was  every  bit  as  piquant,  challeng- 
ing, and  delectable  as  he  had  imagined  her  to  be  on 
the  day  when  he  ate  an  artichoke  at  the  next  table 
to  hers  at  Wilkins's.  She  coincided  exactly  with 
his  remembrance  of  her,  except  that  she  was  now 
slightly  more  plump.  Her  contours  were  effulgent 
—  there  was  no  other  word.  Beautiful  she  was  not, 
for  she  had  a  turned-up  nose;  but  what  charm  she 
radiated!  Every  movement  and  tone  enchanted  Ed- 
ward Henry.  He  was  enchanted  not  at  intervals, 
by  a  chance  gesture,  but  all  the  time  —  when  she 
was  serious,  when  she  smiled,  when  she  fingered  her 
teacup,  when  she  pushed  her  furs  back  over  her 
shoulders,  when  she  spoke  of  the  weather,  when  she 
spoke  of  the  social  crisis,  and  when  she  made  fun, 
with  a  certain  brief  absence  of  restraint,  rather  in 
her  artichoke  manner  of  making  fun. 

He  thought  and  believed: 

"  This  is  the  finest  woman  I  ever  saw !  "  He 
clearly  perceived  the  inferiority  of  other  women, 
whom  nevertheless  he  admired  and  liked,  such  as  the 
Countess  of  Chell  and  Lady  Woldo. 


CORNER-STONE  239 

It  was  not  her  brains;  nor  her  beauty,  nor  her 
stylishness  that  affected  him.  No !  It  was  some- 
thing mysterious  and  dizzying  that  resided  in  every 
particle  of  her  individuality. 

He  thought: 

"  I've  often  and  often  wanted  to  see  her  again. 
And  now  I'm  having  tea  with  her!  "  And  he  was 
happy. 

"Have  you  got  that  list,  Mr.  Marrier?"  she 
asked  in  her  low  and  thrilling  voice.  So  saying,  she 
raised  her  eyebrows  in  expectation  —  a  delicious  ef- 
fect, especially  behind  her  half-raised  white  veil. 

Mr.  Marrier  produced  a  document. 

"  But  that's  my  list !  "  said  Edward  Henry. 

"Your  list?" 

"  I'd  better  tell  you."  Mr.  Marrier  essayed  a 
rapid  explanation.  "  Mr.  Machin  wanted  a  list 
of  the  raight  sort  of  people  to  ask  to  the  corner- 
stone-laying of  his  theatah.  So  I  used  this  as  a 
basis." 

Elsie  April  smiled  again.  "  Ve-ry  good !  "  she 
approved. 

"What  is  your  list,  Marrier?"  asked  Edward 
Henry. 

It  was  Elsie  who  replied: 

"  People  to  be  invited  to  the  dramatic  soiree  of 
the  Azure  Society.  We  give  six  a  year.  No  title 
is  announced.  Nobody  except  a  committee  of  three 
knows  even  the  name  of  the  author  of  the  play 
that  is  to  be  performed.  Everything  is  kept 
a  secret.  Even  the  author  doesn't  know  that  his 


24o  THE  OLD  ADAM 

play  has  been  chosen.  Don't  you  think  it's  a  de- 
lightful idea?  ...  An  offspring  of  the  New 
Thought!" 

He  agreed  that  it  was  a  delightful  idea. 

"  Shall  I  be  invited?"  he  asked. 

She  answered  gravely:     "  I  don't  know." 

"  Are  you  going  to  play  in  it?  " 

She  paused.  ..."  Yes." 

"  Then  you  must  let  me  come.  Talking  of 
plays  — " 

He  stopped.  He  was  on  the  edge  of  facetiously 
relating  the  episode  of  "  The  Orient  Pearl  "  at  Sir 
John  Pilgrim's;  but  he  withdrew  in  time.  Suppose 
that  "  The  Orient  Pearl  "  was  the  piece  to  be  per- 
formed by  the  Azure  Society!  It  might  well  be. 
It  was  (in  his  opinion)  just  the  sort  of  play  thai: 
that  sort  of  society  would  choose.  Nevertheless  he 
was  as  anxious  as  ever  to  see  Elsie  April  act.  He 
really  thought  that  she  could  and  would  transfigure 
any  play.  Even  his  profound  scorn  of  New 
Thought  (a  subject  of  which  he  was  entirely  igno- 
rant) began  to  be  modified  —  and  by  nothing  but 
the  enchantment  of  the  tone  in  which  Elsie  April 
murmured  the  words,  "Azure  Society!" 

"  How  soon  is  the  performance?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Wednesday  week,"  said  she. 

"  That's  the  very  day  of  my  corner-stone-laying," 
he  said.  "  However,  it  doesn't  matter.  My  little 
affair  will  be  in  the  afternoon." 

"  But  it  can't  be,"  said  she  solemnly.  "  It  would 
interfere  with  us,  and  we  should  interfere  with  it. 


CORNER-STONE  241 

Our  annual  conference  takes  place  in  the  afternoon. 
All  London  will  be  there." 

Said  Mr.  Marrier  rather  shamefaced: 
"  That's  just  it,  Mr.  Machin.  It  positively  never 
occurred  to  me  that  the  Azure  Conference  is  to  be 
on  that  very  day.  I  never  thought  of  it  until  nearly 
four  o'clock.  And  then  I  scarcely  knew  how  to  ex- 
plain it  to  you.  I  really  don't  know  how  it  escaped 


me." 


Mr.  Marrier's  trouble  was  now  out,  and  he  had 
declined  in  Edward  Henry's  esteem.  Mr.  Marrier 
was  afraid  of  him.  Mr.  Marrier's  list  of  personages 
was  no  longer  a  miracle  of  foresight;  it  was  a  mere 
coincidence.  He  doubted  if  Mr.  Marrier  was 
worth  even  his  three  pounds  a  week.  Edward 
Henry  began  to  feel  ruthless,  Napoleonic.  He  was 
capable  of  brushing  away  the  whole  Azure  Society 
and  New  Thought  movement  into  limbo. 

"  You  must  please  alter  your  date,"  said  Elsie 
April.  And  she  put  her  right  elbow  on  the  table 
and  leaned  her  chin  on  it,  and  thus  somehow  estab- 
lished a  domestic  intimacy  for  the  three  amid  all 
the  blare  and  notoriety  of  the  vast  tea-room. 

"  Oh,  but  I  can't!  "  he  said  easily,  familiarly.  It 
was  her  occasional  "  artichoke  "  manner  that  had 
justified  him  in  assuming  this  tone.  "  I  can't!  "  he 
repeated.  "  I've  told  Sir  John  I  can't  possibly  be 
ready  any  earlier,  and  on  the  day  after  he'll  almost 
certainly  be  on  his  way  to  Marseilles.  Besides,  I 
don't  want  to  alter  my  date.  My  date  is  in  the 
papers  by  this  time." 


242  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  You've  already  done  quite  enough  harm  to  the 
movement  as  it  is,"  said  Elsie  April  stoutly  but  rav- 
ishingly. 

"  Me  —  harm  to  the  movement?  " 

"  Haven't  you  stopped  the  building  of  our 
church?" 

"Oh!     So  you  know  Mr.  Wrissell?" 

"  Very  well  indeed." 

**  Anybody  else  would  have  done  the  same  in  my 
place,"  Edward  Henry  defended  himself.  "  Your 
cousin,  Miss  Euclid,  would  have  done  it,  and  Mar- 
rier  here  was  in  the  affair  with  her." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Elsie  April.  "  But  we  didn't 
belong  to  the  movement  then  I  We  didn't  know. 
.  .  .  Come  now,  Mr.  Machin.  Sir  John  Pilgrim 
will  of  course  be  a  great  show.  But  even  if  you've 
got  him  and  manage  to  stick  to  him,  we  should  beat 
you.  You'll  never  get  the  audience  you  want  if  you 
don't  change  from  Wednesday  week.  After  all,  the 
number  of  people  who  count  in  London  is  very 
small.  And  we've  got  nearly  all  of  them.  You've 
no  idea  — " 

"  I  won't  change  from  Wednesday  week,"  said 
Edward  Henry.  This  defiance  of  her  put  him  into 
an  extremely  agitated  felicity. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Mr.  Machin — " 

He  was  actually  aware  of  the  charm  she  was  ex- 
erting, and  yet  he  discovered  that  he  could  easily 
withstand  it. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Miss  April,  please  don't  try  to 
take  advantage  of  your  beauty  I  " 


CORNER-STONE  243 

She  sat  up.  She  was  apparently  measuring  her- 
self and  him. 

"  Then  you  won't  change  the  day,  truly?  "  Her 
urbanity  was  in  no  wise  impaired. 

"  I  won't,"  he  laughed  lightly.  "  I  dare  say  you 
aren't  used  to  people  like  me,  Miss  April." 

(She  might  get  the  better  of  Seven  Sachs,  but 
not  of  him,  Edward  Henry  Machin  from  the  Five 
Towns!) 

"  Marrier,"  said  he  suddenly,  with  a  bluff  humor- 
ous downrightness,  "  you  know  you're  in  a  very 
awkward  position  here,  and  you  know  you've  got 
to  see  Alloyd  for  me  before  six  o'clock.  Be  off 
with  you.  I  will  be  responsible  for  Miss  April." 

("I'll  show  these  Londoners!"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  It's  simple  enough  when  you  once  get  into 
it.") 

And  he  did  in  fact  succeed  in  dismissing  Mr. 
Marrier,  after  the  latter  had  talked  Azure  business 
with  Miss  April  for  a  couple  of  minutes. 

"  I  must  go,  too,"  said  Elsie,  imperturbable,  im- 
penetrable. 

"  One  moment,"  he  entreated,  and  masterfully 
signalled  Marrier  to  depart.  After  all,  he  was  pay- 
ing the  fellow  three  pounds  a  week. 

She  watched  Marrier  thread  his  way  out.  Al- 
ready she  had  put  on  her  gloves. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  repeated,  her  rich  red  lips  then 
closed  definitely. 

"Have  you  a  motor  here?"  Edward  Henry 
asked. 


244  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  No." 

"  Then,  if  I  may,  I'll  see  you  home." 

"  You    may,"    she    said,    gazing    full    at    him. 

Whereby  he  was  somewhat  startled  and  put  out  of 

countenance. 

V. 

"Are  we  friends?"  he  asked  roguishly. 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  said,  with  no  diminution  of  her 
inscrutability. 

They  were  in  a  taxicab,  rolling  along  the  Em- 
bankment towards  the  Buckingham  Palace  Hotel, 
where  she  said  she  lived.  He  was  happy.  "  Why 
am  I  happy?  "  he  thought.  "  What  is  there  in  her 
that  makes  me  happy?"  He  did  not  know.  But 
he  knew  that  he  had  never  been  in  a  taxicab,  or  any- 
where else,  with  any  woman  half  so  elegant.  Her 
elegance  flattered  him  enormously.  Here  he  was, 
a  provincial  man  of  business,  ruffling  it  with  the  best 
of  them!  .  .  .  And  she  was  young  in  her  worldly 
maturity.  Was  she  twenty-seven?  She  could  not 
be  more.  She  looked  straight  in  front  of  her,  faintly 
smiling.  .  .  .  Yes,  he  was  fully  aware  that  he  was 
a  married  man.  He  had  a  distinct  vision  of  the 
angelic  Nellie,  of  the  three  children,  and  of  his 
mother.  But  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  own  case 
differed  in  some  very  subtle  and  yet  effective  man- 
ner from  the  similar  case  of  any  other  married  man. 
And  he  lived,  unharassed  by  apprehensions,  in  the 
lively  joy  of  the  moment. 


CORNER-STONE  245 

"  But,"  she  said,  "  I  hope  you  won't  come  to  see 
me  act." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  should  prefer  you  not  to.  You 
would  not  be  sympathetic  to  me." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  should." 

"  I  shouldn't  feel  it  so."  And  then  with  a  swift 
disarrangement  of  all  the  folds  of  her  skirt  she 
turned  and  faced  him.  "  Mr.  Machin,  do  you 
know  why  I've  let  you  come  with  me?  " 

"  Because  you're  a  good-natured  woman,"  he  said. 

She  grew  even  graver,  shaking  her  head. 

"  No !  I  simply  wanted  to  tell  you  that  you've 
ruined  Rose,  my  cousin." 

"  Miss  Euclid?     Me  ruined  Miss  Euclid?  " 

"  Yes.  You  robbed  her  of  her  theatre  —  her  one 
chance." 

He  blushed.  "  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  "  I  did  no 
such  thing.  I  simply  bought  her  option  from  her. 
She  was  absolutely  free  to  keep  the  option  or  let 
it  go." 

"  The  fact  remains,"  said  Elsie  April,  with  humid 
eyes,  "  the  fact  remains  that  she'd  set  her  heart  on 
having  that  theatre,  and  you  failed  her  at  the  last 
instant.  And  she  has  nothing,  and  you've  got  the 
theatre  entirely  in  your  own  hands.  I'm  not  so 
silly  as  to  suppose  that  you  can't  defend  yourself 
legally.  But  let  me  tell  you  that  Rose  went  to  the 
United  States  heart-broken,  and  she's  playing  to 
empty  houses  there  —  empty  houses !  Whereas 


246  THE  OLD  ADAM 

she  might  have  been  here  in  London,  interested  in 
her  theatre,  and  preparing  for  a  successful  season." 

"  I'd  no  idea  of  this,"  breathed  Edward  Henry. 
He  was  dashed.  "  I'm  awfully  sorry !  " 

11  Yes,  no  doubt.     But  there  it  is !  " 

Silence  fell.  He  knew  not  what  to  say.  He  felt 
himself  in  one  way  innocent,  but  he  felt  himself  in 
another  way  blackly  guilty.  His  remorse  for  the 
telephone-trick  which  he  had  practised  on  Rose 
Euclid  burst  forth  again  after  a  long  period  of 
quiescence  simulating  death,  and  actually  troubled 
him.  .  .  .  No,  he  was  not  guilty!  He  insisted  in 
his  heart  that  he  was  not  guilty!  And  yet  —  and 
yet  — 

No  taxicab  ever  travelled  so  quickly  as  that  taxi- 
cab.  Before  he  could  gather  together  his  forces  it 
had  arrived  beneath  the  awning  of  the  Buckingham 
Palace  Hotel. 

His  last  words  to  her  were: 

"  Now,  I  sha'nt  change  the  day  of  my  stone- 
laying.  But  don't  worry  about  your  conference. 
You  know  it'll  be  perfectly  all  right."  He  spoke 
archly,  with  a  brave  attempt  at  cajolery;  but  in  the 
recesses  of  his  soul  he  was  not  sure  that  she  had  not 
defeated  him  in  this  their  first  encounter.  However, 
Seven  Sachs  might  talk  as  he  chose  —  she  was  not 
such  a  persuasive  creature  as  all  that!  She  had 
scarcely  even  tried  to  be  persuasive. 

At  about  a  quarter-past  six,  when  he  saw  his  un- 
derling again,  he  said  to  Mr.  Marrier: 

"  Marrier,  I've  got  a  great  idea.     We'll  have  that 


CORNER-STONE  247 

corner-stone-laying  at  night.  After  the  theatres. 
Say  half-past  eleven.  Torchlight !  Fireworks  from 
the  cranes!  It'll  tickle  old  Pilgrim  to  death.  I 
shall  have  a  marquee  with  match-boarding  sides  fixed 
up  inside,  and  heat  it  with  a  few  of  those  smoke- 
less stoves.  We  can  easily  lay  on  electricity.  It 
will  be  absolutely  the  most  sensational  stone-laying 
that  ever  was.  It'll  be  in  all  the  papers  all  over 
the  blessed  world.  Think  of  it!  Torches!  Fire- 
works from  the  cranes!  .  .  .  But  I  won't  change 
the  day  —  neither  for  Miss  April  nor  anybody  else." 

Mr.  Marrier  dissolved  in  laudations. 

"  Well,"  Edward  Henry  agreed  with  false  dif- 
fidence, "  it'll  knock  spots  off  some  of  'em  in  this 
town !  " 

He  felt  that  he  had  snatched  victory  out  of  de- 
feat. But  the  next  moment  he  was  capable  of  feel- 
ing that  Elsie  April  had  defeated  him  even  in  his 
victory.  Anyhow,  she  was  a  most  disconcerting  and 
fancy-monopolising  creature. 

There  was  one  source  of  unsullied  gratification: 
he  had  shaved  off  his  beard. 

VI. 

"  Come  up  here,  Sir  John,"  Edward  Henry 
called.  "  You'll  see  better,  and  you'll  be  out  of  the 
crowd.  And  I'll  show  you  something." 

He  stood,  in  a  fur  coat,  at  the  top  of  a  short 
flight  of  rough-surfaced  steps  between  two  un- 
plastered  walls  —  a  staircase  which  ultimately  was 
to  form  part  of  an  emergency  exit  from  the  dress- 


248  THE  OLD  ADAM 

circle  of  the  Regent  Theatre.  Sir  John  Pilgrim, 
also  in  a  fur  coat,  stood  near  the  bottom  of  the 
steps,  with  a  glare  of  a  Wells  light  full  on  him  and 
throwing  his  shadow  almost  up  to  Edward  Henry's 
feet.  Around,  Edward  Henry  could  descry  the  vast 
mysterious  forms  of  the  building's  skeleton  —  black 
in  places,  but  in  other  places  lit  up  by  bright  rays 
from  the  gaiety  below,  and  showing  glimpses  of 
that  gaiety  in  the  occasional  revelation  of  a  woman's 
cloak  through  slits  in  the  construction.  High  over- 
head, two  gigantic  cranes  interlaced  their  arms;  and 
even  higher  than  the  cranes,  shone  the  stars  of  the 
clear  spring  night. 

The  hour  was  nearly  half-past  twelve.  The  cere- 
mony was  concluded  —  and  successfully  concluded. 
All  London  had  indeed  been  present.  Half  the 
aristocracy  of  England,  and  far  more  than  half  the 
aristocracy  of  the  London  stage !  The  entire  preci- 
osity of  the  metropolis!  Journalists  with  influence 
enough  to  plunge  the  whole  of  Europe  into  war! 
In  one  short  hour  Edward  Henry's  right  hand 
(peeping  out  from  the  superb  fur  coat  which  he 
had  had  the  wit  to  buy)  had  made  the  acquaintance 
of  scores  upon  scores  of  the  most  celebrated  right 
hands  in  Britain.  He  had  the  sensation  that  in  fu- 
ture, whenever  he  walked  about  the  best  streets  of 
the  West  End,  he  would  be  continually  compelled 
to  stop  and  chat  with  august  and  renowned  acquaint- 
ances, and  that  he  would  always  be  taking  off  his 
hat  to  fine  ladies  who  flashed  by  nodding  from 
powerful  motor-cars.  Indeed,  Edward  Henry  was 


CORNER-STONE  249 

surprised  at  the  number  of  famous  people  who 
seemed  to  have  nothing  to  do  but  attend  advertis- 
ing rituals  at  midnight  or  thereabouts.  Sir  John 
Pilgrim  had,  as  Marrier  predicted,  attended  to  the 
advertisements.  But  Edward  Henry  had  helped. 
And  on  the  day  itself  the  evening  newspapers  had 
taken  the  bit  between  their  teeth  and  run  off  with 
the  affair  at  a  great  pace.  The  affair  was  on  all 
the  contents-bills  hours  before  it  actually  happened. 
Edward  Henry  had  been  interviewed  several  times, 
and  had  rather  enjoyed  that.  Gradually  he  had  per- 
ceived that  his  novel  idea  for  a  corner-stone-laying 
had  caught  the  facile  imagination  of  the  London 
populace.  For  that  night  at  least  he  was  famous  — 
as  famous  as  anybody! 

Sir  John  had  made  a  wondrous  picturesque  figure 
of  himself  as,  in  a  raised  corner  of  the  crowded  and 
beflagged  marquee,  he  had  flourished  a  trowel  and 
talked  about  the  great  and  enlightened  public,  and 
about  the  highest  function  of  the  drama,  and  about 
the  duty  of  the  artist  to  elevate,  and  about  the  sol- 
emn responsibility  of  theatrical  managers,  and  about 
the  absence  of  petty  jealousies  in  the  world  of 
the  stage.  Everybody  had  vociferously  applauded, 
while  reporters  turned  rapidly  the  pages  of  their 
note-books.  "Ass!"  Edward  Henry  had  said  to 
himself  with  much  force  and  sincerity, —  meaning 
Sir  John, —  but  he  too  had  vociferously  applauded; 
for  he  was  from  the  Five  Towns,  and  in  the  Five 
Towns  people  are  like  that!  Then  Sir  John  had 
declared  the  corner-stone  well  and  truly  laid  (it  was 


250  THE  OLD  ADAM 

on  the  corner  which  the  electric  sign  of  the  future 
was  destined  to  occupy),  and,  after  being  thanked, 
had  wandered  off  shaking  hands  here  and  there  ab- 
sently, to  arrive  at  length  in  the  office  of  the  clerk 
of  the  works,  where  Edward  Henry  had  arranged 
suitably  to  refresh  the  stone-layer  and  a  few  choice 
friends  of  both  sexes. 

He  had  hoped  that  Elsie  April  would  somehow 
reach  that  little  office.  But  Elsie  April  was  absent, 
indisposed.  Her  absence  made  the  one  blemish  on 
the  affair's  perfection.  Elsie  April,  it  appeared, 
had  been  struck  down  by  a  cold  which  had  entirely 
deprived  her  of  her  voice,  so  that  the  performance 
of  the  Azure  Society's  Dramatic  Club,  so  eagerly 
anticipated  by  all  London,  had  had  to  be  postponed. 
Edward  Henry  bore  the  misfortune  of  the  Azure 
Society  with  stoicism,  but  he  had  been  extremely 
disappointed  by  the  invisibility  of  Elsie  April  at  his 
stone-laying.  His  eyes  had  wanted  her. 

Sir  John,  awaking  apparently  out  of  a  dream 
when  Edward  Henry  had  summoned  him  twice, 
climbed  the  uneven  staircase  and  joined  his  host  and 
youngest  rival  on  the  insecure  planks  and  gangways 
that  covered  the  first  floor  of  the  Regent  Theatre. 

"  Come  higher,"  said  Edward  Henry,  mounting 
upward  to  the  beginnings  of  the  second  story,  above 
which  hung  suspended  from  the  larger  crane  the 
great  cage  that  was  employed  to  carry  brick  and 
stone  from  the  ground. 

The  two  fur  coats  almost  mingled. 


CORNER-STONE  251 

"  Well,  young  man,"  said  Sir  John  Pilgrim, 
"  your  troubles  will  soon  be  beginning." 

Now  Edward  Henry  hated  to  be  addressed  as 
"  young  man,"  especially  in  the  patronising  tone 
which  Sir  John  used.  Moreover,  he  had  a  suspi- 
cion that  in  Sir  John's  mind  was  the  illusion  that 
Sir  John  alone  was  responsible  for  the  creation  of 
the  Regent  Theatre  —  that  without  Sir  John's  aid 
as  a  stone-layer  it  could  never  have  existed. 

"  You  mean  my  troubles  as  a  manager?  "  said  Ed- 
ward Henry  grimly. 

"  In  twelve  months  from  now,  before  I  come 
back  from  my  world's  tour,  you'll  be  ready  to  get 
rid  of  this  thing  on  any  terms.  You  will  be  wishing 
that  you  had  imitated  my  example  and  kept  out  of 
Piccadilly  Circus.  Piccadilly  Circus  is  sinister,  my 
Alderman  —  sinister." 

"  Come  up  into  the  cage,  Sir  John,"  said  Edward 
Henry.  "  You'll  get  a  still  better  view.  Rather 
fine,  isn't  it,  even  from  here?" 

He  climbed  up  into  the  cage  and  helped  Sir  John 
to  climb. 

And,  standing  there  in  the  immediate  silence,  Sir 
John  murmured  with  emotion: 

"  We  are  alone  with  London!  " 

Edward  Henry  thought: 

"Cuckoo!" 

They  heard  footsteps  resounding  on  loose  planks 
in  a  distant  corner. 

"Who's  there?"  Edward  Henry  called. 


252  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Only  me !  "  replied  a  voice.  "  Nobody  takes 
any  notice  of  me!  " 

"  Who  is  it?  "  muttered  Sir  John. 

"  Alloyd,  the  architect,"  Edward  Henry  answered, 
and  then  calling  loud:  "  Come  up  here,  Alloyd." 

The  muffled  and  coated  figure  approached,  hesi- 
tated, and  then  joined  the  other  two  in  the  cage. 

"Let  me  introduce  Mr.  Alloyd,  the  architect  — 
Sir  John  Pilgrim,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

"Ah!"  said  Sir  John,  bending  towards  Alloyd. 
"  Are  you  the  genius  who  draws  those  amusing  little 
lines  and  scrawls  on  transparent  paper,  Mr.  Alloyd? 
Tell  me,  are  they  really  necessary  for  a  building,  or 
do  you  only  do  them  for  your  own  fun?  Quite  be- 
tween ourselves,  you  know !  I've  often  wondered." 

Said  Mr.  Alloyd  with  a  pale  smile : 

"  Of  course  everyone  looks  on  the  architect  as  a 
joke !  "  The  pause  was  somewhat  difficult; 

"  You  promised  us  rockets,  Mr.  Machin,"  said 
Sir  John.  "  My  mind  yearns  for  rockets." 

"  Right  you  are !  "  Edward  Henry  complied. 
Close  by,  but  somewhat  above  them,  was  tl\e  crane- 
engine,  manned  by  an  engineer  whom  Edward  Henry 
was  paying  for  overtime.  A  signal  was  given,  and 
the  cage  containing  the  proprietor  and  the  architect 
of  the  theatre  and  Sir  John  Pilgrim  bounded  most 
startlingly  up  into  the  air.  Simultaneously  it  began 
to  revolve  rapidly  on  its  cable,  as  such  cages  will, 
whether  filled  with  bricks  or  with  celebrities. 

"Oh!"  ejaculated  Sir  John,  terror-struck,  cling- 
ing hard  to  the  side  of  the  cage. 


CORNER-STONE  253 

"  Oh ! "  ejaculated  Mr.  Alloyd,  also  clinging 
hard. 

"  I  want  you  to  see  London,"  said  Edward  Henry, 
who  had  been  through  the  experience  before. 

The  wind  blew  cold  above  the  chimneys. 

The  cage  came  to  a  standstill  exactly  at  the  peak 
of  the  other  crane.  London  lay  beneath  the  trio. 
The  curves  of  Regent  Street  and  of  Shaftesbury 
Avenue,  the  right  lines  of  Piccadilly,  Lower  Regent 
Street,  and  Coventry  Street,  were  displayed  at  their 
feet  as  on  an  illuminated  map,  over  which  crawled 
mannikins  and  toy  autobuses.  At  their  feet  a  long 
procession  of  automobiles  were  sliding  off,  one  after 
another,  with  the  guests  of  the  evening.  The 
metropolis  stretched  away,  lifting  to  the  north,  and 
sinking  to  the  south  into  jewelled  river  on  whose 
curved  bank  rose  messages  of  light  concerning 
whisky,  tea,  and  beer.  The  peaceful  nocturnal  roar 
of  the  city,  dwindling  every  moment  now,  reached 
them  like  an  emanation  from  another  world. 

"  You  asked  for  a  rocket,  Sir  John,"  said  Edward 
Henry.  "  You  shall  have  it." 

He  had  taken  a  box  of  fuses  from  his  pocket. 
He  struck  one,  and  his  companions  in  the  swaying 
cage  now  saw  that  a  tremendous  rocket  was  hung 
to  the  peak  of  the  other  crane.  He  lighted  the 
fuse.  .  .  .  An  instant  of  deathly  suspense!  .  .  . 
And  then  with  a  terrific  and  a  shattering  bang  and 
splutter  the  rocket  shot  towards  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  and  there  burst  into  a  vast  dome  of  red  blos- 
soms which,  irradiating  a  square  mile  of  roofs,  de- 


254  THE  OLD  ADAM 

scended  slowly  and  softly  on  the  West  End  like  a 
benediction. 

"  You  always  want  crimson,  don't  you,  Sir 
John?"  said  Edward  Henry,  and  the  easy  cheeri- 
ness  of  his  voice  gradually  tranquillised  the  alarm 
natural  to  two  very  earthly  men  who  for  the  first 
time  found  themselves  suspended  insecurely  over  a 
gulf. 

"  I  have  seen  nothing  so  impressive  since  the 
Russian  ballet,"  murmured  Mr.  Alloyd,  recover- 
ing. 

"  You  ought  to  go  to  Siberia,  Alloyd,"  said  Ed- 
ward Henry. 

Sir  John  Pilgrim,  pretending  now  to  be  extremely 
brave,  suddenly  turned  on  Edward  Henry  and  in  a 
convulsive  grasp  seized  his  hand. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  a  thought  has 
just  occurred  to  me:  you  and  I  are  the  two  most  re- 
markable men  in  London !  "  He  glanced  up  as  the 
cage  trembled.  "  How  thin  that  steel  rope  seems!  " 

The  cage  slowly  descended,  with  many  twists. 

Edward  Henry  said  not  a  word.  He  was  too 
deeply  moved  by  his  own  triumph  to  be  able  to 
speak. 

"  Who  else  but  me,"  he  reflected,  exultant,  "  could 
have  managed  this  affair  as  I've  managed  it?  Did 
anyone  else  ever  take  Sir  John  Pilgrim  up  into  the 
sky  like  a  load  of  bricks,  and  frighten  his  life  out 
of  him?" 

As  the  cage  approached  the  platforms  of  the  first 
story  he  saw  two  people  waiting  there;  one  he  rec- 


CORNER-STONE  255 

ognised  as  the  faithful,  harmless  Marrier;  the  other 
was  a  woman. 

"  Someone  here  wants  you  urgently,  Mr.  Ma- 
chin!  "  cried  Marrier. 

"  By  Jove,"  exclaimed  Alloyd  under  his  breath, 
"  what  a  beautiful  figure  I  No  girl  as  attractive  as 
that  ever  wanted  me  urgently !  Some  folks  do  have 
luck!" 

The  woman  had  moved  a  little  away  when  the 
cage  landed.  Edward  Henry  followed  her  along 
the  planking. 

It  was  Elsie  April. 

"  I  thought  you  were  ill  in  bed,"  he  breathed, 
astounded. 

Her  answering  voice  reached  him,  scarcely  audi- 
ble: 

"  I'm  only  hoarse.  My  cousin  Rose  has  arrived 
to-night  in  secret  at  Tilbury  by  the  Minnetonka." 

"  The  Minnetonka! "  he  muttered.  Staggering 
coincidence !  Mystic  heralding  of  misfortune ! 

"  I  was  sent  for,"  the  pale  ghost  of  a  delicate 
voice  continued.  "  She's  broken,  ruined;  no  cour- 
age left.  Awful  fiasco  in  Chicago!  She's  hiding 
now  at  a  little  hotel  in  Soho.  She  absolutely  de- 
clined to  come  to  my  hotel.  I've  done  what  I  could 
for  the  moment.  As  I  was  driving  by  here  just  now 
I  saw  the  rocket,  and  I  thought  of  you.  I  thoughc 
you  ought  to  know  it.  I  thought  it  was  my  duty  to 
tell  you." 

She  held  her  muff  to  her  mouth.  She  seemed  to 
be  trembling. 


256  THE  OLD  ADAM 

A  heavy  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  a  strong,  rough  voice. 
"Are  you  the  gent  that  fired  off  the  rocket?  It's 
against  the  law  to  do  that  kind  o'  thing  here,  and 
you  ought  to  know  it.  I  shall  have  to  trouble 
you—" 

It  was  a  policeman  of  the  C  division. 

Sir  John  was  disappearing,  with  his  stealthy  and 
conspiratorial  air,  down  the  staircase. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DEALING   WITH    ELSIE 
I. 

THE  headquarters  of  the  Azure  Society  were 
situate  in  Marloes  Road,  for  no  other  rea- 
son   than    that   it   happened    so.     Though 
certain   famous  people   inhabit   Marloes   Road,   no 
street  could  well  be  less  fashionable  than  this  thor- 
oughfare, which  is  very  arid  and  very  long,  and  a 
very  long  way  off  the  centre  of  the  universe. 

;<  The  Azure  Society,  you  know !  "  Edward  Henry 
added  when  he  had  given  the  exact  address  to  the 
chauffeur  of  the  taxi. 

The  chauffeur,  however,  did  not  know,  and  did 
not  seem  to  be  ashamed  of  his  ignorance.  His  at- 
titude indicated  that  he  despised  Marloes  Road,  and 
was  not  particularly  anxious  for  his  vehicle  to  be 
seen  therein,  especially  on  a  wet  night,  but  that 
nevertheless  he  would  endeavour  to  reach  it.  When 
he  did  reach  it,  and  observed  the  large  concourse 
of  shining  automobiles  that  struggled  together  in 
the  rain  in  front  of  the  illuminated  number  named 
by  Edward  Henry,  the  chauffeur  admitted  to  him- 
self that  for  once  he  had  been  mistaken,  and  his 
manner  of  receiving  money  from  Edward  Henry  was 
generously  respectful. 

257 


25 8  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Originally  the  headquarters  of  the  Azure  Society 
had  been  a  seminary  and  schoolmistress'  house. 
The  thoroughness  with  which  the  buildings  had  been 
transformed  showed  that  money  was  not  among  the 
things  which  the  society  had  to  search  for.  It  had 
rich  resources,  and  it  had  also  high  social  standing; 
and  the  deferential  commissionaires  at  the  doors 
and  the  fluffy-aproned,  appealing  girls  who  gave 
away  programmes  in  the  foyer  were  a  proof  that 
the  society,  while  doubtless  anxious  about  such  sub- 
jects as  the  persistence  of  individuality  after  death, 
had  no  desire  to  reconstitute  the  community  on  a 
democratic  basis.  It  was  above  such  transient  trifles 
of  reform,  and  its  high  endeavours  were  confined  to 
questions  of  immortality,  of  the  infinite,  of  sex,  and 
of  art:  which  questions  it  discussed  in  fine  raiment 
and  with  all  the  punctilio  of  courtly  politeness. 

Edward  Henry  was  late,  in  common  with  some 
two  hundred  other  people  of  whom  the  majority 
were  elegant  women  wearing  Paris  or  almost  Paris 
gowns  with  a  difference.  As  on  the  current  of  the 
variegated  throng  he  drifted  through  corridors  into 
the  bijou  theatre  of  the  society,  he  could  not  help 
feeling  proud  of  his  own  presence  there;  and  yet  at 
the  same  time  he  was  scorning,  in  his  Five  Towns 
way,  the  preciosity  and  the  simperings  of  these  his 
fellow  creatures.  Seated  in  the  auditorium,  at  the 
end  of  a  row,  he  was  aware  of  an  even  keener  sat- 
isfaction as  people  bowed  and  smiled  at  him;  for 
the  theatre  was  so  tiny  and  the  reunion  so  choice  that 
it  was  obviously  an  honour  and  a  distinction  to  have 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  259 

been  invited  to  such  an  exclusive  affair.  To  the 
evening  first  fixed  for  the  dramatic  soiree  of  the 
Azure  Society  he  had  received  no  invitation.  But 
shortly  after  the  postponement  due  to  Elsie  April's 
indisposition  an  envelope  addressed  by  Marrier  him- 
self, and  containing  the  sacred  card,  had  arrived  for 
him  in  Bursley.  His  instinct  had  been  to  ignore  it, 
and  for  two  days  he  had  ignored  it,  and  then  he  no- 
ticed in  one  corner  the  initials  "  E.  A."  Strange 
that  it  did  not  occur  to  him  immediately  that  E.  A. 
stood,  or  might  stand,  for  Elsie  April ! 

Reflection  brings  wisdom  and  knowledge.  In  the 
end  he  was  absolutely  convinced  that  E.  A.  stood 
for  Elsie  April;  and  at  the  last  moment,  deciding 
that  it  would  be  the  act  of  a  fool  and  a  coward  to 
decline  what  was  practically  a  personal  request  from 
a  young  and  enchanting  woman,  he  had  come  to 
London  —  short  of  sleep,  it  is  true,  owing  to  local 
convivialities,  but  he  had  come.  And,  curiously,  he 
had  not  communicated  with  Marrier.  Marrier  had 
been  extremely  taken  up  with  the  dramatic  soiree  of 
the  Azure  Society,  which  Edward  Henry  justifiably 
but  quite  privately  resented.  Was  he  not  paying 
three  pounds  a  week  to  Marrier? 

And  now,  there  he  sat,  known,  watched,  a  no- 
toriety, the  card  who  had  raised  Pilgrim  to  the  skies, 
probably  the  only  theatrical  proprietor  in  the 
crowded  and  silent  audience;  and  he  was  expecting 
anxiously  to  see  Elsie  April  again  —  across  the  foot- 
lights !  He  had  not  seen  her  since  the  night  of  the 
stone-laying,  over  a  week  earlier.  He  had  not 


260  THE  OLD  ADAM 

sought  to  see  her.  He  had  listened  then  to  the 
delicate  tones  of  her  weak,  whispering,  thrilling 
voice,  and  had  expressed  regret  for  Rose  Euclid's 
plight.  But  he  had  done  no  more.  What  could  he 
have  done?  Clearly  he  could  not  have  offered 
money  to  relieve  the  plight  of  Rose  Euclid,  who 
was  the  cousin  of  a  girl  as  wealthy  and  as  sympa- 
thetic as  Elsie  April.  To  do  so  would  have  been  to 
insult  Elsie.  Yet  he  felt  guilty  none  the  less.  An 
odd  situation!  The  delicate  tones  of  Elsie's  weak, 
whispering,  thrilling  voice  on  the  scaffolding  haunted 
his  memory,  and  came  back  with  strange  clearness  as 
he  sat  waiting  for  the  curtain  to  ascend. 

There  was  an  outburst  of  sedate  applause,  and  a 
turning  of  heads  to  the  right.  Edward  Henry 
looked  in  that  direction.  Rose  Euclid  herself  was 
bowing  from  one  of  the  two  boxes  on  the  first  tier. 
Instantly  she  had  been  recognised  and  acknowledged, 
and  the  clapping  had  in  nowise  disturbed  her.  Evi- 
dently she  accepted  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  How 
famous,  after  all,  she  must  be,  if  such  an  audience 
would  pay  her  such  a  meed !  She  was  pale,  and 
dressed  glitteringly  in  white.  She  seemed  younger, 
more  graceful,  much  more  handsome,  more  in  ac- 
cordance with  her  renown.  She  was  at  home  and 
at  ease  up  there  in  the  brightness  of  publicity.  The 
imposing  legend  of  her  long  career  had  survived  the 
eclipse  in  the  United  States.  Who  could  have 
guessed  that  some  ten  days  before  she  had  landed 
heart-broken  and  ruined  at  Tilbury  from  the  Minne- 
tonkaf 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  261 

Edward  Henry  was  impressed. 

"  She's  none  so  dusty!  "  he  said  to  himself  in  the 
incomprehensible  slang  of  the  Five  Towns.  The 
phrase  was  a  high  compliment  to  Rose  Euclid,  aged 
fifty  and  looking  anything  you  like  over  thirty.  It 
measured  the  extent  to  which  he  was  impressed. 

Yes,  he  felt  guilty.  He  had  to  drop  his  eyes,  lest 
hers  should  catch  them.  He  examined  guiltily  the 
programme,  which  announced  "  The  New  Don 
Juan,"  a  play  "  in  three  acts  and  in  verse  " —  author 
unnamed.  The  curtain  went  up. 

II. 

And  with  the  rising  of  the  curtain  began  Edward 
Henry's  torture  and  bewilderment.  The  scene  dis- 
closed a  cloth  upon  which  was  painted,  to  the  right, 
a  vast  writhing  purple  cuttlefish  whose  finer  tenta- 
cles were  lost  above  the  proscenium-arch,  and  to 
the  left  an  enormous  crimson  oblong  patch  with  a 
hole  in  it.  He  referred  to  the  programme,  which 
said:  "Act.  I.  A  castle  in  the  forest,"  and  also 
"  Scenery  and  costumes  designed  by  Saracen  Giv- 
ington,  A.R.A."  The  cuttlefish,  then,  was  the  pur- 
ple forest,  or  perhaps  one  tree  in  the  forest,  and  the 
oblong  patch  was  the  crimson  castle.  The  stage 
remained  empty,  and  Edward  Henry  had  time 
to  perceive  that  the  footlights  were  unlit,  and 
that  rays  came  only  from  the  flies  and  from  the 
wings. 

He  glanced  round.  Nobody  had  blenched. 
Quite  confused,  he  referred  again  to  the  programme 


262  THE  OLD  ADAM 

and  deciphered  in  the  increasing  gloom,  "  Lighting 
by  Cosmo  Clark,"  in  very  large  letters. 

Two  yellow-clad  figures  of  no  particular  sex  glided 
into  view,  and  at  the  first  words  which  they  uttered 
Edward  Henry's  heart  seemed  in  apprehension  to 
cease  to  beat.  A  fear  seized  him.  A  few  more 
words,  and  the  fear  became  a  positive  assurance  and 
realisation  of  evil.  "  The  New  Don  Juan "  was 
simply  a  pseudonym  for  Carlo  Trent's  "  Orient 
Pearl " !  .  .  .  He  had  always  known  that  it  would 
be.  Ever  since  deciding  to  accept  the  invitation  he 
had  lived  under  just  that  menace.  "  The  Orient 
Pearl  "  seemed  to  be  pursuing  him  like  a  sinister 
destiny. 

Weakly  he  consulted  yet  again  the  programme. 
Only  one  character  bore  a  name  familiar  to  the  Don 
Juan  story;  to  wit,  "Haidee";  and  opposite  that 
name  was  the  name  of  Elsie  April.  He  waited  for 
her, —  he  had  no  other  interest  in  the  evening, —  and 
he  waited  in  resignation.  A  young  female  trouba- 
dour (styled  in  the  programme  "the  messenger") 
emerged  from  the  unseen  depths  of  the  forest  in  the 
wings  and  ejaculated  to  the  hero  and  his  friend: 
"  The  woman  appears."  But  it  was  not  Elsie  that 
appeared.  Six  times  that  troubadour  messenger 
emerged  and  ejaculated,  'The  woman  appears," 
and  each  time  Edward  Henry  was  disappointed. 
But  at  the  seventh  heralding  —  the  heralding  of  the 
seventh  and  highest  heroine  of  this  drama  in  hexa- 
meters—  Elsie  did  at  length  appear. 

And  Edward  Henry  became  happy.     He  under- 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  263 

stood  little  more  of  the  play  than  at  the  historic 
breakfast-party  of  Sir  John  Pilgrim;  he  was  well  con- 
firmed in  his  belief  that  the  play  was  exactly  as  pre- 
posterous as  a  play  in  verse  must  necessarily  be;  his 
manly  contempt  for  verse  was  more  firmly  estab- 
lished than  ever  —  but  Elsie  April  made  an  exquisite 
figure  between  the  castle  and  the  forest;  her  voice 
did  really  set  up  physical  vibrations  in  his  spine. 
He  was  deliciously  convinced  that  if  she  remained 
on  the  stage  from  everlasting  to  everlasting,  just  so 
long  could  he  gaze  thereat  without  surfeit  and  with- 
out other  desire.  The  mischief  was  that  she  did  not 
remain  on  the  stage.  With  despair  he  saw  her 
depart;  and  the  close  of  the  act  was  ashes  in  his 
mouth. 

The  applause  was  tremendous.  It  was  not  as  tre- 
mendous as  that  which  had  greeted  the  plate-smash- 
ing comedy  at  the  Hanbridge  Empire,  but  it  was 
far  more  than  sufficiently  enthusiastic  to  startle  and 
shock  Edward  Henry.  In  fact,  his  cold  indifference 
was  so  conspicuous  amid  that  fever,  that  in  order 
to  save  his  face  he  had  to  clap  and  to  smile. 

And  the  dreadful  thought  crossed  his  mind,  tra- 
versing it  like  the  shudder  of  a  distant  earthquake 
that  presages  complete  destruction: 

"Are  the  ideas  of  the  Five  Towns  all  wrong? 
Am  I  a  provincial  after  all?  " 

For  hitherto,  though  he  had  often  admitted  to 
himself  that  he  was  a  provincial,  he  had  never  done 
so  with  sincerity;  but  always  in  a  manner  of  playful 
and  rather  condescending  bandinage. 


264  THE  OLD  ADAM 

in. 

11  Did  you  ever  see  such  scenery  and  costumes?  " 
some  one  addressed  him  suddenly  when  the  applause 
had  died  down.  It  was  Mr.  Alloyd,  who  had  ad- 
vanced up  the  aisle  from  the  back  row  of  the  stalls. 

"  No,  I  never  did  I  "  Edward  Henry  agreed. 

"  It's  wonderful  how  Givington  has  managed  to 
get  away  from  the  childish  realism  of  the  modern 
theatre,"  said  Mr.  Alloyd,  "  without  being  ridicu- 
lous." 

"  You  think  so !  "  said  Edward  Henry  judicially. 
"  The  question  is,  Has  he?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  it's  too  realistic  for  you?  "  cried 
Mr.  Alloyd.  "  Well,  you  are  advanced !  I  didn't 
know  you  were  as  anti-representational  as  all  that!  " 

"  Neither  did  I !  "  said  Edward  Henry.  "  What 
do  you  think  of  the  play?  " 

"  Well,"  answered  Mr.  Alloyd  low  and  cau- 
tiously, with  a  somewhat  shamed  grin,  "  between  you 
and  me,  I  think  the  play's  bosh." 

"  Come,  come !  "  Edward  Henry  murmured  as  if 
in  protest. 

The  word  "  bosh  "  was  almost  the  first  word  of 
the  discussion  which  he  had  comprehended,  and  the 
honest  familiar  sound  of  it  did  him  good.  Never- 
theless, keeping  his  presence  of  mind,  he  had  for- 
borne to  welcome  it  openly.  He  wondered  what  on 
earth  "  anti-representational  "  could  mean.  Similar 
conversations  were  proceeding  around  him,  and  each 
could  be  very  closely  heard,  for  the  reason  that,  the 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  265 

audience  being  frankly  intellectual  and  anxious  to 
exchange  ideas,  the  management  had  wisely  avoided 
the  expense  and  noise  of  an  orchestra.  The 
entr'acte  was  like  a  conversazione  of  all  the  cul- 
tures. 

"  I  wish  you'd  give  us  some  scenery  and  costumes 
like  this  in  your  theatre,"  said  Alloyd  as  he  strolled 
away. 

The  remark  stabbed  him  like  a  needle;  the  pain 
was  gone  in  an  instant,  but  it  left  a  vague  fear  be- 
hind it,  as  of  the  menace  of  a  mortal  injury.  It  is 
a  fact  that  Edward  Henry  blushed  and  grew 
gloomy,  and  he  scarcely  knew  why.  He  looked 
about  him  timidly,  half  defiantly.  A  magnificently 
arrayed  woman  in  the  row  in  front,  somewhat  to 
the  right,  leaned  back  and  towards  him,  and  behind 
her  fan  said: 

"  You're  the  only  manager  here,  Mr.  Machin ! 
How  alive  and  alert  you  are!  "  Her  voice  seemed 
to  be  charged  with  a  hidden  meaning. 

"  D'you  think  so?"  said  Edward  Henry.  He 
had  no  idea  who  she  might  be.  He  had  probably 
shaken  hands  with  her  at  his  stone-laying,  but  if  so 
he  had  forgotten  her  face.  He  was  fast  becoming 
one  of  the  oligarchical  few  who  are  recognised  by 
far  more  people  than  they  recognise. 

"A  beautiful  play!"  said  the  woman.  "Not 
merely  poetic,  but  intellectual.  And  an  extraordi- 
narily acute  criticism  of  modern  conditions !  " 

He  nodded.  "  What  do  you  think  of  the  scen- 
ery? "  he  asked. 


266  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Well,  of  course  candidly,"  said  the  woman,  "  I 
think  it's  silly.  I  dare  say  I'm  old-fashioned." 

44 1  dare  say,"  murmured  Edward  Henry. 

"  They  told  me  you  were  very  ironic,"  said  she, 
flushing  but  meek. 

"They!"  Who?  Who  in  the  world  of  Lon- 
don had  been  labelling  him  as  ironic?  He  was 
rather  proud. 

"  I  hope  if  you  do  do  this  kind  of  play, —  and 
we're  all  looking  to  you,  Mr.  Machin,"  said  the  lady 
making  a  new  start, — "  I  hope  you  won't  go  in  for 
these  costumes  and  scenery.  That  would  never 
do!" 

Again  the  stab  of  the  needle ! 

"  It  wouldn't,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  delighted  you  think  so,"  said  she. 

An  orange  telegram  came  travelling  from  hand  to 
hand  along  that  row  of  stalls,  and  ultimately,  after 
skipping  a  few  persons,  reached  the  magnificently 
arrayed  woman,  who  read  it  and  then  passed  it  to 
Edward  Henry. 

"  Splendid !  "  she  exclaimed.     "  Splendid !  " 

Edward  Henry  read:     "  Released.     Isabel." 

"What  does  it  mean?  " 

"  It's  from  Isabel  Joy  —  at  Marseilles." 

"Really!" 

Edward  Henry's  ignorance  of  affairs  round  about 
the  centre  of  the  universe  was  occasionally  distress- 
ing—  to  himself  in  particular.  And  just  now  he 
gravely  blamed  Mr.  Marrier,  who  had  neglected  to 
post  him  about  Isabel  Joy.  But  how  could  Mar- 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  267 

rier  honestly  earn  his  three  pounds  a  week  if  he  was 
occupied  night  and  day  with  the  organising  and  man- 
agement of  these  precious  dramatic  soirees?  Ed- 
ward Henry  decided  that  he  must  give  Mr.  Marrier 
a  piece  of  his  mind  at  the  first  opportunity. 

"  Don't  you  know?  "  questioned  the  dame. 

"How  should  I?"  he  parried.  "I'm  only  a 
provincial." 

"  But  surely,"  pursued  the  dame,  "  you  knew  we'd 
sent  her  round  the  world.  She  started  on  the  Kan- 
dahar, the  ship  that  you  stopped  Sir  John  Pilgrim 
from  taking.  She  almost  atoned  for  his  absence  at 
Tilbury.  Twenty-five  reporters,  anyway!" 

Edward  Henry  sharply  slapped  his  thigh,  which 
in  the  Five  Towns  signifies,  "  I  shall  forget  my  own 
name  next." 

Of  course !  Isabel  Joy  was  the  advertising  emis- 
sary of  the  Militant  Suffragette  Society,  sent  forth 
to  hold  a  public  meeting  and  make  a  speech  in  the 
principal  ports  of  the  world.  She  had  guaranteed 
to  circuit  the  globe  and  to  be  back  in  London  within 
a  hundred  days,  to  speak  in  at  least  five  languages, 
and  to  get  herself  arrested  at  least  three  times  en 
route.  Of  course!  Isabel  Joy  had  possessed  a 
very  fair  share  of  the  newspapers  on  the  day  before 
the  stone-laying,  but  Edward  Henry  had  naturally 
had  too  many  preoccupations  to  follow  her  exploits. 
After  all,  his  momentary  forgetfulness  was  rather 
excusable. 

"She's  made  a  superb  beginning!"  said  the  re- 
splendent dame,  taking  the  telegram  from  Edward 


268  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Henry  and  inducting  it  into  another  row.  "  And 
before  three  months  are  out  she'll  be  the  talk  of  the 
entire  earth.  You'll  see  1  " 

"Is  everybody  a  suffragette  here?"  asked  Ed- 
ward Henry  simply,  as  his  eyes  witnessed  the  satis- 
faction spread  by  the  voyaging  telegram. 

"  Practically,"  said  the  dame.  "  These  things  al- 
ways go  hand  in  hand,"  she  added  in  a  deep  tone. 

"  What  things?  "  the  provincial  demanded. 

But  just  then  the  curtain  rose  on  the  second  act. 

IV. 

"  Won't  you  cam  up  to  Miss  April's  dressing- 
room?  "  said  Mr.  Marrier,  who  in  the  midst  of  the 
fulminating  applause  after  the  second  act  seemed  to 
be  inexplicably  standing  over  him,  having  appeared 
in  an  instant  out  of  nowhere  like  a  genie. 

The  fact  was  that  Edward  Henry  had  been  gently 
and  innocently  dozing.  It  was  in  part  the  deep  ob- 
scurity of  the  auditorium,  in  part  his  own  physical 
fatigue,  and  in  part  the  secret  nature  of  poetry  that 
had  been  responsible  for  this  restful  slumber.  He 
had  remained  awake  without  difficulty  during  the 
first  portion  of  the  act,  in  which  Elsie  April  —  the 
orient  pearl  —  had  had  a  long  scene  of  emotion  and 
tears,  played,  as  Edward  Henry  thought,  magnifi- 
cently in  spite  of  its  inherent  ridiculousness;  but  later, 
when  gentle  Haidee  had  vanished  away  and  the 
fateful  troubadour  messenger  had  begun  to  resume 
her  announcements  of  "  The  woman  appears,"  Ed- 
ward Henry's  soul  had  miserably  yielded  to  his 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  269 

body  and  to  the  temptation  of  darkness.  The  up- 
turned lights  and  the  ringing  hosannahs  had  roused 
him  to  a  full  sense  of  sin,  but  he  had  not  quite  re- 
covered all  his  faculties  when  Marrier  startled  him. 

"Yes,  yes!  Of  course!  I  was  coming,"  he  an- 
swered a  little  petulantly.  But  no  petulance  could 
impair  the  beaming  optimism  on  Mr.  Marrier' s  fea- 
tures. To  judge  by  those  features,  Mr.  Marrier, 
in  addition  to  having  organised  and  managed  the 
soiree,  might  also  have  written  the  piece  and  played 
every  part  in  it,  and  founded  the  Azure  Society  and 
built  its  private  theatre.  The  hour  was  Mr.  Mar- 
rier's. 

Elsie  April's  dressing-room  was  small  and  very 
thickly  populated,  and  the  threshold  of  it  was 
barred  by  eager  persons  who  were  half  in  and  half 
out  of  the  room.  Through  these  Mr.  Marrier's 
authority  forced  a  way.  The  first  man  Edward 
Henry  recognised  in  the  tumult  of  bodies  was  Mr. 
Rollo  Wrissell,  whom  he  had  not  seen  since  their 
meeting  at  Slosson's. 

"  Mr.  Wrissell,"  said  the  glowing  Marrier,  "  let 
me  introduce  Mr.  Alderman  Machin,  of  the  Regent 
Theatah." 

"Clumsy  fool!"  thought  Edward  Henry,  and 
stood  as  if  entranced. 

But  Mr.  Wrissell  held  out  a  hand  with  the  per- 
fection of  urbane  insouciance. 

"How  d'you  do,  Mr.  Machin?"  said  he.  "I 
hope  you'll  forgive  me  for  not  having  followed  your 
advice." 


270  THE  OLD  ADAM 

This  was  a  lesson  to  Edward  Henry.  He  learnt 
that  you  should  never  show  a  wound,  and  if  possi- 
ble never  feel  one.  He  admitted  that  in  such  de- 
tails of  social  conduct  London  might  be  in  advance 
of  the  Five  Towns,  despite  the  Five  Towns'  ad- 
mirable downrightness. 

Lady  Woldo  was  also  in  the  dressing-room,  glori- 
ous in  black.  Her  beauty  was  positively  discon- 
certing, and  the  more  so  on  this  occasion  as  she  was 
bending  over  the  faded  Rose  Euclid,  who  sat  in  a 
corner  surrounded  by  a  court.  This  court,  compris- 
ing comparatively  uncelebrated  young  women  and 
men,  listened  with  respect  to  the  conversation  of 
the  peeress  (who  called  Rose  "my  dear"),  the 
great  star-actress,  and  the  now  somewhat  notorious 
Five  Towns  character,  Edward  Henry  Machin. 

"  Miss  April  is  splendid,  isn't  she?  "  said  Edward 
Henry  to  Lady  Woldo. 

"  Oh  1  My  word,  yes !  "  replied  Lady  Woldo 
nicely,  warmly,  yet  with  a  certain  perfunctoriness. 
Edward  Henry  was  astonished  that  everybody  was 
not  passionately  enthusiastic  about  the  charm  of 
Elsie's  performance.  Then  Lady  Woldo  added: 
"  But  what  a  part  for  Miss  Euclid!  What  a  part 
for  her!" 

And  there  were  murmurs  of  approbation. 

Rose  Euclid  gazed  at  Edward  Henry  palely  and 
weakly.  He  considered  her  much  less  effective  here 
than  in  her  box.  But  her  febrile  gaze  was  effective 
enough  to  produce  in  him  the  needle-stab  again,  the 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  271 

feeling  of  gloom,  of  pessimism,  of  being  gradually 
overtaken  by  an  unseen  and  mysterious  avenger. 

"Yes,  indeed!"  said  he. 

He  thought  to  himself :  "  Now's  the  time  for 
me  to  behave  like  Edward  Henry  Machin,  and  teach 
these  people  a  thing  or  two !  "  But  he  could  not. 

A  pretty  young  girl  summoned  all  her  forces  to 
address  the  great  proprietor  of  the  Regent,  to  whom, 
however,  she  had  not  been  introduced,  and  with  a 
charming  nervous  earnest  lisp  said: 

"  But  don't  you  think  it's  a  great  play,  Mr. 
Machin?" 

"  Of  course !  "  he  replied,  inwardly  employing  the 
most  fearful  and  shocking  anathemas. 

"  We  were  sure  you  would !  " 

The  young  people  glanced  at  each  other  with  the 
satisfaction  of  proved  prophets. 

"  D'you  know  that  not  another  manager  has 
taken  the  trouble  to  come  here !  "  said  a  second 
earnest  young  woman. 

Edward  Henry's  self-consciousness  was  now  acute. 
He  would  have  paid  a  ransom  to  be  alone  on  a 
desert  island  in  the  Indian  seas.  He  looked  down- 
wards, and  noticed  that  all  these  bright  eager  per- 
sons, women  and  men,  were  wearing  blue  stockings 
or  socks." 

"  Miss  April  is  free  now,"  said  Marrier  in  his  ear. 

The  next  instant  he  was  talking  alone  to  Elsie 
in  another  corner,  while  the  rest  of  the  room  respect- 
fully observed. 


272  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  So  you  deigned  to  come !  "  said  Elsie  April. 
"  You  did  get  my  card !  " 

A  little  paint  did  her  no  harm,  and  the  accentua- 
tion of  her  eyebrows  and  lips  and  the  calculated  dis- 
order of  her  hair  were  not  more  than  her  powerful 
effulgent  physique  could  stand.  In  a  costume  of 
green  and  silver  she  was  magnificent,  overwhelmingly 
magnificent. 

Her  varying  voice  and  her  glance,  at  once  sincere, 
timid,  and  bold,  produced  the  most  singular  sensa- 
tions behind  Edward  Henry's  soft-frilled  shirt-front. 
And  he  thought  that  he  had  never  been  through  any 
experience  so  disturbing  and  so  fine  as  just  standing 
in  front  of  her. 

"  I  ought  to  be  saying  nice  things  to  her,"  he  re- 
flected; but,  no  doubt  because  he  had  been  born  in 
the  Five  Towns,  he  could  not  formulate  in  his  mind 
a  single  nice  thing. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  she  asked, 
looking  full  at  him,  and  the  glance  too  had  a  strange 
significance.  It  was  as  if  she  had  said:  "Are  you 
a  man,  or  aren't  you?  " 

"  I  think  you're  splendid,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Now  please !  "  she  protested.  "  Don't  begin 
in  that  strain.  I  know  I'm  very  good  for  an  ama- 
teur—" 

"  But  really!     I'm  not  joking!  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  part  for  Rose? 
Wouldn't  she  be  tremendous  in  it?  Wouldn't  she 
be  tremendous?  What  a  chance!  " 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  273 

He  was  acutely  uncomfortable,  but  even  his  dis- 
comfort was  somehow  a  joy. 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted.     "  Yes." 

"  Oh !     Here's  Carlo  Trent,"  said  she. 

He  heard  Trent's  triumphant  voice  carrying  the 
end  of  a  conversation  into  the  room:  "  If  he  hadn't 
been  going  away,"  Carlo  Trent  was  saying,  "  Pilgrim 
would  have  taken  it.  Pilgrim  — " 

The  poet's  eyes  met  Edward  Henry's,  and  the 
sentence  was  never  finished. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Machin?  "  murmured  the  poet. 

Then  a  bell  began  to  ring  and  would  not  stop. 

"You're  staying  for  the  reception  afterwards?" 
said  Elsie  April  as  the  room  emptied. 

"Is  there  one?" 

"  Of  course." 

It  seemed  to  Edward  Henry  that  they  exchanged 
silent  messages. 

V. 

Some  time  after  the  last  hexameter  had  rolled 
forth,  and  the  curtain  had  finally  fallen  on  the  im- 
mense and  rapturous  success  of  Carlo  Trent's  play 
in  three  acts  and  in  verse,  Edward  Henry,  walking 
about  the  crowded  stage  where  the  reception  was  be- 
ing held,  encountered  Elsie  April,  who  was  still  in 
her  gorgeous  dress  of  green  and  silver.  She  was 
chatting  with  Marrier,  who  instantly  left  her,  thus 
displaying  a  discretion  such  as  an  employer  would 
naturally  expect  from  a  factotum  to  whom  he  was 
paying  three  pounds  a  week. 


274  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Edward  Henry's  heart  began  to  beat  in  a  manner 
which  troubled  him  and  made  him  wonder  what 
could  be  happening  at  the  back  of  the  soft-frilled 
shirt-front  that  he  had  obtained  in  imitation  of  Mr. 
Seven  Sachs. 

"  Not  much  elbow-room  here  1  "  he  said  lightly. 
He  was  very  anxious  to  be  equal  to  the  occasion. 

She  gazed  at  him  under  her  emphasized  eyebrows. 
He  noticed  that  there  were  little  touches  of  red  on 
her  delightful  nostrils. 

"  No,"  she  answered  with  direct  simplicity. 
"  Suppose  we  try  somewhere  else." 

She  turned  her  back  on  all  the  amiable  and  in- 
tellectual babble,  descended  three  steps  on  the 
prompt  side,  and  opened  a  door.  The  swish  of  her 
brocaded  spreading  skirt  was  loud  and  sensuous.  He 
followed  her  into  an  obscure  chamber  in  which  sev- 
eral figures  were  moving  to  and  fro  and  talking. 

"What's  this  place?"  he  asked.  Involuntarily 
his  voice  was  diminished  to  a  whisper. 

"  It's  one  of  the  discussion-rooms,"  said  she.  "  It 
used  to  be  a  classroom,  I  expect,  before  the  society 
took  the  buildings  over.  You  see  the  theatre  was 
the  general  schoolroom." 

They  sat  down  inobtrusively  in  an  embrasure. 
None  among  the  mysterious  moving  figures  seemed 
to  remark  them. 

"But  why  are  they  talking  in  the  dark?"  Ed- 
ward Henry  asked  behind  his  hand. 

"  To  begin  with,  it  isn't  quite  dark,"  she  said. 
"  There's  the  light  of  the  street-lamp  through  the 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  275 

window.  But  it  has  been  found  that  serious  dis- 
cussions can  be  carried  on  much  better  without  too 
much  light.  .  .  .  I'm  not  joking."  (It  was  as  if 
in  the  gloom  her  ears  had  caught  his  faint  sardonic 
smile.) 

Said  the  voice  of  one  of  the  figures: 

"  Can  you  tell  me  what  is  the  origin  of  the  decay 
of  realism?  Can  you  tell  me  that?" 

Suddenly,  in  the  ensuing  silence,  there  was  a  click 
and  a  tiny  electric  lamp  shot  its  beam.  The  hand 
which  held  the  lamp  was  the  hand  of  Carlo  Trent. 
He  raised  it  and  flashed  the  trembling  ray  in  the  in- 
quirer's face.  Edward  Henry  recalled  Carlo's  ob- 
jection to  excessive  electricity  in  the  private  draw- 
ing-room at  Wilkins's. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  such  a  question?  "  Carlo  Trent 
challenged  the  enquirer,  brandishing  the  lamp.  "  I 
ask  you  why  do  you  ask  it?  " 

The  other  also  drew  forth  a  lamp  and,  as  it  were, 
cocked  it  and  let  it  off  at  the  features  of  Carlo 
Trent.  And  thus  the  two  stood,  statuesque  and 
lit,  surrounded  by  shadowy  witnesses  of  the  discus- 
sion. 

The  door  creaked  and  yet  another  figure,  sil- 
houetted for  an  instant  against  the  illumination  of 
the  stage,  descended  into  the  discussion-chamber. 

Carlo  Trent  tripped  towards  the  newcomer,  bent 
with  his  lamp,  lifted  delicately  the  hem  of  the  new- 
comer's trousers,  and  gazed  at  the  colour  of  his  sock, 
which  was  blue. 

"All  right!"  said  he. 


276  THE  OLD  ADAM 

;t  The  champagne  and  sandwiches  are  served,"  said 
the  newcomer. 

"  You've  not  answered  me,  sir,"  Carlo  Trent 
faced  once  more  his  opponent  in  the  discussion. 
"  You've  not  answered  me." 

Whereupon,  the  lamps  being  extinguished,  they  all 
filed  forth,  the  door  swung  to  of  its  own  accord, 
shutting  out  the  sound  of  babble  from  the  stage, 
and  Edward  Henry  and  Elsie  April  were  left  silent 
and  solitary  to  the  sole  ray  of  the  street-lamp. 

All  the  Five  Towns  shrewdness  in  Edward 
Henry's  character,  all  the  husband  in  him,  all  the 
father  in  him,  all  the  son  in  him,  leapt  to  his  lips 
and  tried  to  say  to  Elsie,  "  Shall  we  go  and  inspect 
the  champagne  and  sandwiches  too?  "  and  failed  to 
say  these  incantatory  words  of  salvation! 

And  the  romantic  adventurous  fool  in  him  rejoiced 
at  their  failure.  For  he  was  adventurously  happy 
in  his  propinquity  to  that  simple  and  sincere  creature. 
He  was  so  happy,  and  his  heart  was  so  active,  that 
he  even  made  no  caustic  characteristic  comment  on 
the  singular  behaviour  of  the  beings  who  had  just 
abandoned  them  to  their  loneliness.  He  was  also 
proud  because  he  was  sitting  alone  nearly  in  the  dark 
with  a  piquant  and  wealthy,  albeit  amateur,  actress 
who  had  just  participated  in  a  triumph  at  which  the 
spiritual  aristocracy  of  London  had  assisted. 

VI. 

Two  thoughts  ran  through  his  head,  shooting  in 
and  out  and  to  and  fro  among  his  complex  sensations 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  277 

of  pleasure.  The  first  was  that  he  had  never  been 
in  such  a  fix  before,  despite  his  enterprising  habits. 
And  the  second  was  that  neither  Elsie  April  nor  any- 
body else  connected  with  his  affairs  in  London  had 
ever  asked  him  whether  he  was  married,  nor  assumed 
by  any  detail  of  behaviour  towards  him  that  there 
existed  the  possibility  of  his  being  married.  Of 
course  he  might,  had  he  chosen,  have  informed  a  few 
of  them  that  a  wife  and  children  possessed  him,  but 
then,  really,  would  not  that  have  been  equivalent  to 
attaching  a  label  to  himself  "  Married  "  ? —  a  pro- 
cedure which  had  to  him  the  stamp  of  provincial- 
ity. 

Elsie  April  said  nothing.  And  as  she  said  noth- 
ing he  was  obliged  to  say  something,  if  only  to  prove 
to  both  of  them  that  he  was  not  a  mere  tongue-tied 
provincial.  He  said: 

'  You  know  I  feel  awfully  out  of  it  here  in  this 
society  of  yours  !  " 

"  Out  of  it?  "  she  exclaimed,  and  her  voice  thrilled 
as  she  resented  his  self-depreciation. 

"  It's  over  my  head  —  right  over  it !  " 

"  Now,  Mr.  Machin,"  she  said,  dropping  some- 
what that  rich,  low  voice,  "  I  quite  understand  that 
there  are  some  things  about  the  society  you  don't 
like,  trifles  that  you're  inclined  to  laugh  at.  / 
know  that.  Many  of  us  know  it.  But  it  can't  be 
helped  in  an  organisation  like  ours.  It's  even  es- 
sential. Don't  be  too  hard  on  us.  Don't  be  sar- 
castic." 

"  But  I'm  not  sarcastic!  "  he  protested. 


278  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"Honest?"  She  turned  to  him  quickly.  He 
could  descry  her  face  in  the  gloom,  and  the  forward 
bend  of  her  shoulders,  and  the  backward  sweep  of 
her  arms  resting  on  the  seat,  and  the  straight  droop 
of  her  Egyptian  shawl  from  her  inclined  body. 

"  Honest!  "  he  solemnly  insisted. 

The  exchange  of  this  single  word  was  so  intimate 
that  it  shifted  their  conversation  to  a  different  level 
—  a  level  at  which  each  seemed  to  be  assuring  the 
other  that  intercourse  between  them  could  never  be 
aught  but  utterly  sincere  thenceforward,  and  that 
indeed  in  future  they  would  constitute  a  little  society 
of  their  own,  ideal  in  its  organisation. 

'  Then  you're  too  modest,"  she  said  decidedly. 
"  There  was  no  one  here  to-night  who's  more  re- 
spected than  you  are.  No  one!  Immediately  I 
first  spoke  to  you  —  I  daresay  you  don't  remember 
that  afternoon  at  the  Grand  Babylon  Hotel  —  I 
knew  you  weren't  like  the  rest.  And  don't  I  know 
them  ?  Don't  I  know  them  ?  " 

"  But  how  did  you  know  I'm  not  like  the  rest?  " 
asked  Edward  Henry.  The  line  which  she  was 
taking  had  very  much  surprised  him,  and  charmed 
him.  The  compliment,  so  serious  and  urgent  in 
tone,  was  intensely  agreeable,  and  it  made  an  entirely 
new  experience  in  his  career.  He  thought:  "  Oh! 
There's  no  mistake  about  it.  These  London  women 
are  marvellous!  They're  just  as  straight  and  in 
earnest  as  the  best  of  our  little  lot  down  there.  But 
they've  got  something  else.  There's  no  compari- 
son! "  The  uniauf  word  to  describe  the  indescrib- 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  279 

able  floated  into  his  head :  "  Scrumptuous !  "  What 
could  not  life  be  with  such  semi-divine  creatures? 
He  dreamt  of  art  drawing-rooms  softly  shaded  at 
midnight.  And  his  attitude  towards  even  poetry 
was  modified. 

"  I  knew  you  weren't  like  the  rest,"  said  she,  "  by 
your  look ;  by  the  way  you  say  everything  you  do  say. 
We  all  know  it.  And  I'm  sure  you're  far  more 
than  clever  enough  to  be  perfectly  aware  that  we  all 
know  it.  Just  see  how  everyone  looked  at  you  to- 
night!" • 

Yes,  he  had  in  fact  been  aware  of  the  glances. 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  she  went  on,  "  that 
I  was  rather  unfair  to  you  that  day  in  talking  about 
my  cousin  —  in  the  taxi.  You  were  quite  right  to 
refuse  to  go  into  partnership  with  her.  She  thinks 
so  too.  We've  talked  it  over,  and  we're  quite 
agreed.  Of  course  it  did  seem  hard  —  at  the  time, 
and  her  bad  luck  in  America  seemed  to  make  it  worse. 
But  you  were  quite  right.  You  can  work  much  bet- 
ter alone.  You  must  have  felt  that  instinctively  — 
far  quicker  than  we  felt  it." 

"  Well,"  he  murmured,  confused,  "  I  don't 
know—" 

Could  this  be  she  who  had  too  openly  smiled  at 
his  skirmish  with  an  artichoke? 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Machin,"  she  burst  out,  "  you've  got 
an  unprecedented  opportunity,  and,  thank  Heaven, 
you're  the  man  to  use  it!  We're  all  expecting  so 
much  from  you,  and  we  know  we  sha'n't  be  disap- 
pointed." i 


280  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  D'ye  mean  the  theatre?  "  he  asked,  alarmed  as 
it  were  amid  rising  waters. 

"  The  theatre,"  said  she  gravely.  "  You're  the 
one  man  that  can  save  London.  No  one  in  London 
can  do  it!  .  .  .  You  have  the  happiness  of  knowing 
what  your  mission  is,  and  of  knowing  too  that  you 
are  equal  to  it.  What  good  fortune !  I  wish  I 
could  say  as  much  for  myself.  I  want  to  do  some- 
thing! I  try!  But  what  can  I  do?  Nothing  — 
really!  You've  no  idea  of  the  awful  loneliness  that 
comes  from  a  feeling  of  inability." 

"  Loneliness !  "  he  repeated.  "  But  surely  — " 
He  stopped. 

"  Loneliness,"  she  insisted.  Her  little  chin  was 
now  in  her  little  hand,  and  her  dim  face  upturned. 

And  suddenly  a  sensation  of  absolute  and  marvel- 
lous terror  seized  Edward  Henry.  He  was  more 
afraid  than  he  had  ever  been  —  and  yet  once  or  twice 
in  his  life  he  had  felt  fear.  His  sense  of  true  per- 
spective —  one  of  his  most  precious  qualities  —  re- 
turned. He  thought:  "  I've  got  to  get  out  of 
this."  Well,  the  door  was  not  locked.  It  was  only 
necessary  to  turn  the  handle,  and  security  lay  on  the 
other  side  of  the  door!  He  had  but  to  rise  and 
walk.  And  he  could  not.  He  might  just  as  well 
have  been  manacled  in  a  prison-cell.  He  was  under 
an  enchantment. 

"  A  man,"  murmured  Elsie,  "  a  man  can  never  re- 
alise the  loneliness  — "  She  ceased. 

He  stirred  uneasily. 

"  About    this    play,"    he    found    himself    saying. 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  281 

And  yet  why  should  he  mention  the  play  in  his  fright  ? 
He  pretended  to  himself  not  to  know  why.  But  he 
knew  why.  His  instinct  had  seen  in  the  topic  of  the 
play  the  sole  avenue  of  salvation. 

"  A  wonderful  thing,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said;  and  then,  most  astonishingly 
to  himself,  added:  "  I've  decided  to  do  it." 

"  We  knew  you  would,"  she  said  calmly.     "  At 

any  rate  I  did.  .  .  .  You'll  open  with  it  of  course." 

'  Yes,"  he  answered  desperately,  and  proceeded, 

with  the  most  extraordinary  bravery :     "  If  you'll 

act  in  it." 

Immediately  on  hearing  these  last  words  issue 
from  his  mouth,  he  knew  that  a  fool  had  uttered 
them,  and  that  the  bravery  was  mere  rashness;  for 
Elsie's  responding  gesture  reinspired  him  afresh  with 
the  exquisite  terror  which  he  had  already  begun  to 
conjure  away. 

"  You  think  Miss  Euclid  ought  to  have  the  part," 
he  added  quickly,  before  she  could  speak. 

"  Oh,  I  do !  "  cried  Elsie  positively  and  eagerly. 
"  Rose  will  do  simply  wonders  with  that  part.  You 
see  she  can  speak  verse.  I  can't.  I'm  nobody.  I 
only  took  it  because  — " 

"Aren't  you  anybody?"  he  contradicted. 
"  Aren't  you  anybody?  I  can  just  tell  you  — " 

There  he  was  again,  bringing  back  the  delicious 
terror!  An  astounding  situation! 

But  the  door  creaked.  The  babble  from  the  stage 
invaded  the  room.  And  in  a  second  the  enchant- 
ment was  lifted  from  him.  Several  people  en- 


282  THE  OLD  ADAM 

tered.  He  sighed,  saying  within  himself  to  the  dis- 
turbers : 

"  I'd  have  given  you  a  hundred-pound  piece  if 
you'd  been  five  minutes  sooner." 

And  yet  simultaneously  he  regretted  their  arrival. 
And,  more  curious  still,  though  he  well  remembered 
the  warning  words  of  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  concerning 
Elsie  April,  he  did  not  consider  that  they  were  justi- 
fied. She  had  not  been  a  bit  persuasive  .  .  , 
only  .  .  . 

VII. 

He  sat  down  to  the  pianisto  with  a  strange  and 
agreeable  sense  of  security.  It  is  true  that,  owing  to 
the  time  of  year,  the  drawing-room  had  been,  in  the 
figurative  phrase,  turned  upside  down  by  the  process 
of  spring-cleaning,  which  his  unexpected  arrival  had 
surprised  in  fullest  activity.  But  he  did  not  mind 
that.  He  abode  content  among  rolled  carpets,  a 
swathed  chandelier,  piled  chairs,  and  walls  full  of 
pale  rectangular  spaces  where  pictures  had  been. 
Early  that  morning,  after  a  brief  night  spent  partly 
in  bed  and  partly  in  erect  contemplation  of  his  im- 
mediate past  and  his  immediate  future,  he  had  hur- 
ried back  to  his  pianisto  and  his  home  —  to  the 
beings  and  things  that  he  knew  and  that  knew  him. 

In  the  train  he  had  had  the  pleasure  of  reading  in 
sundry  newspapers  that  "  The  Orient  Pearl,"  by 
Carlo  Trent  (who  was  mentioned  in  terms  of  start- 
ling respect  and  admiration) ,  had  been  performed  on 
the  previous  evening  at  the  dramatic  soiree  of  the 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  283 

Azure  Society,  with  all  the  usual  accompaniments  of 
secrecy  and  exclusiveness,  in  its  private  theatre  in 
Kensington,  and  had  been  accepted  on  the  spot  by 
Mr.  E.  H.  Machin  ("  that  most  enterprising  and 
enlightened  recruit  to  the  ranks  of  theatrical  man- 
agers ")  for  production  at  the  new  Regent  Theatre. 
And  further,  that  Mr.  Machin  intended  to  open  with 
it.  And  still  further,  that  his  selection  of  such  a 
play,  which  combined  in  the  highest  degree  the 
poetry  of  Mr.  W.  B.  Yeats  with  the  critical  intellect- 
uality of  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw,  was  of  excellent  augury 
for  London's  dramatic  future,  and  that  the  "  upward 
movement  "  must  on  no  account  be  thought  to  have 
failed  because  of  the  failure  of  certain  recent  ill- 
judged  attempts,  by  persons  who  did  not  understand 
their  business,  to  force  it  In  particular  directions. 
And  still  further,  that  he,  Edward  Henry,  had  en- 
gaged for  the  principal  part  Miss  Rose  Euclid,  per- 
haps the  greatest  emotional  actress  the  English- 
speaking  peoples  had  ever  had,  but  who  unfortunately 
had  not  been  sufficiently  seen  of  late  on  the  London 
stage,  and  that  this  would  be  her  first  appearance 
after  her  recent  artistic  successes  in  the  United 
States.  And  lastly,  that  Mr.  Marrier  (whose  name 
would  be  remembered  in  connection  with  .  .  .  etc., 
etc.)  was  Mr.  E.  H.  Machin's  acting  manager  and 
technical  adviser.  Edward  Henry  could  trace  the 
hand  of  Marrier  in  all  the  paragraphs.  Marrier 
had  lost  no  time. 

Mrs.  Machin,  senior,  came  into  the  drawing-room 
just  as  he  was  adjusting  the  "  Tannhauser  "  overture 


284  THE  OLD  ADAM 

to  the  mechanicien.  The  piece  was  one  of  his  major 
favourites. 

"  This  is  no  place  for  you,  my  lad,"  said  Mrs. 
Machin  grimly,  glancing  round  the  room.  "  But  I 
came  to  tell  ye  as  th'  mutton's  been  cooling  at  least 
five  minutes.  You  gave  out  as  you  were  hungry." 

"  Keep  your  hair  on,  Mother,"  said  he,  springing 
up. 

Barely  twelve  hours  earlier  he  had  been  mincing 
among  the  elect  and  the  select  and  the  intellectual 
and  the  poetic  and  the  aristocratic;  among  the  lah- 
di-dah  and  Kensingtonian  accents;  among  rouged  lips 
and  blue  hose  and  fixed  simperings;  in  the  centre  of 
the  universe.  And  he  had  conducted  himself  with 
considerable  skill  accordingly.  Nobody,  on  the  pre- 
vious night,  could  have  guessed  from  the  cut  of  his 
fancy  waistcoat,  or  the  judiciousness  of  his  responses 
to  remarks  about  verse,  that  his  wife  often  wore  a 
white  apron,  or  that  his  mother  was  —  the  woman 
she  was !  He  had  not  unskillfully  caught  many  of 
the  tricks  of  that  metropolitan  environment.  But 
now  they  all  fell  away  from  him,  and  he  was  just 
Edward  Henry  —  nay,  he  was  almost  the  old  Denry 
again. 

"Who  chose  this  mutton?"  he  asked  as  he  bent 
over  the  juicy  and  rich  joint  and  cut  therefrom  ex- 
quisite thick  slices  with  a  carving-knife  like  a  razor. 

"  /  did,  if  ye  want  to  know,"  said  his  mother. 
"  Anything  amiss  with  it?  "  She  challenged. 

"  No.     It's  fine." 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  I'm  wondering  whether  you  get 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  285 

aught  as  good  as  that  in  these  grand  hotels,  as  you 
call  'em." 

"  We  don't,"  said  Edward  Henry.  First,  it  was 
true,  and  secondly  he  was  anxious  to  be  propitiatory, 
for  he  had  a  plan  to  further. 

He  looked  at  his  wife.  She  was  not  talkative,  but 
she  had  received  him  in  the  hall  with  every  detail  of 
affection,  if  a  little  absent-mindedly,  owing  to  the 
state  of  the  house.  She  had  not  been  caustic,  like 
his  mother,  about  this  male  incursion  into  spring- 
cleaning.  She  had  not  informed  the  surrounding 
air  that  she  failed  to  understand  why  them  as  were 
in  London  couldn't  stop  in  London  for  a  bit,  as  his 
mother  had.  Moreover,  though  the  spring-cleaning 
fully  entitled  her  to  wear  a  white  apron  at  meals,  she 
was  not  wearing  a  white  apron,  which  was  a  sign  to 
him  that  she  still  loved  him  enough  to  want  to  please 
him.  On  the  whole,  he  was  fairly  optimistic  about 
his  plan  of  salvation.  Nevertheless,  it  was  not  until 
nearly  the  end  of  the  meal,  when  one  of  his  mother's 
ample  pies  was  being  consumed,  that  he  began  to  try 
to  broach  it. 

"  Nell,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  care  to 
come  to  London  with  me?  " 

"  Oh !  "  she  answered  smiling,  a  smile  of  a  peculiar 
quality.  It  was  astonishing  how  that  simple  woman 
could  put  just  one-tenth  of  one  per  cent,  of  irony  into 
a  good-natured  smile.  "  What's  the  meaning  of 
this?"  Then  she  flushed.  The  flush  touched  Ed- 
ward Henry  in  an  extraordinary  manner. 

("To  think,"  he  reflected,  incredulously,  "that 


286  THE  OLD  ADAM 

only  last  night  I  was  talking  in  the  dark  to  Elsie 
April  —  and  here  I  am  now !  "  And  he  remembered 
the  glory  of  Elsie's  frock,  and  her  thrilling  voice  in 
the  gloom,  and  that  pose  of  hers  as  she  leaned  dimly 
forward.) 

;<  Well,"  he  said  aloud,  as  naturally  as  he  could. 
1  That  theatre's  beginning  to  get  up  on  its  hind  legs 
now,  and  I  should  like  you  to  see  it." 

A  difficult  pass  for  him,  as  regards  his  mother! 
This  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  overtly  spoken  of 
the  theatre  in  his  mother's  presence.  In  the  best 
bedroom  he  had  talked  of  it,  but  even  there  with  a 
certain  self-consciousness  and  false  casualness. 
Now  his  mother  stared  straight  in  front  of  her  with 
an  expression  of  which  she  alone  among  human  be- 
ings had  the  monopoly. 

"  I  should  like  to,"  said  Nellie  generously. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I've  got  to  go  back  to  town  to- 
morrow. Wilt  come  with  me,  lass?" 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Edward  Henry,"  said  she. 
"  How  can  I  leave  Mother  in  the  middle  of  all  this 
spring-cleaning?  " 

"  You  needn't  leave  Mother.  We'll  take  her 
too,"  said  Edward  Henry  lightly. 

"  You  won't!  "  observed  Mrs.  Machin. 

"  I  have  to  go  to-morrow,  Nell,"  said  Edward 
Henry.  "  And  I  was  thinking  you  might  as  well 
come  with  me.  It  will  be  a  change  for  you." 

(He  said  to  himself:  "  And  not  only  have  I  to 
go  to-morrow,  but  you  absolutely  must  come  with 
me,  my  girl.  That's  the  one  thing  to  do.") 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  287 

"  It  would  be  a  change  for  me,"  Nellie  agreed. 
She  was  beyond  doubt  flattered  and  calmly  pleased. 
"  But  I  can't  possibly  come  to-morrow.  You  can 
see  that  for  yourself,  dear." 

"  No,  I  can't  I  "  he  cried  impatiently.  "  What 
does  it  matter?  Mother'll  be  here.  The  kids'll  be 
all  right.  After  all,  spring  cleaning  isn't  the  day  of 
judgment." 

"  Edward  Henry,"  said  his  mother,  cutting  in  be- 
tween them  like  a  thin  blade,  "  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
be  blasphemous.  London's  London,  and  Bursley's 
Bursley."  She  had  finished. 

"  It's  quite  out  of  the  question  for  me  to  come 
to-morrow,  dear.  I  must  have  notice.  I  really 
must" 

And  Edward  Henry  saw  with  alarm  that  Nellie 
had  made  up  her  mind,  and  that  the  flattered  calm 
pleasure  in  his  suggestion  had  faded  from  her  face. 

"  Oh,  dash  these  domesticated  women !  "  he 
thought,  and  shortly  afterwards  departed,  brooding, 
to  the  offices  of  the  Thrift  Club. 

VIII. 

He  timed  his  return  with  exactitude,  and,  going 
straight  up-stairs  to  the  chamber  known  indifferently 
as  "  Maisie's  room  "  or  "  nurse's  room,"  sure  enough 
he  found  the  three  children  there  alone  !  They  were 
fed,  washed,  night-gowned,  and  even  dressing- 
gowned;  and  this  was  the  hour  when,  while  Nurse 
repaired  the  consequences  of  their  revolutionary  con- 
duct in  the  bathroom  and  other  places,  they  were  left 


288  THE  OLD  ADAM 

to  themselves.  Robert  lay  on  the  hearth-rug,  the 
insteps  of  his  soft,  pink  feet  rubbing  idly  against  the 
pile  of  the  rug,  his  elbows  digging  into  the  pile,  his 
chin  on  his  fists,  and  a  book  perpendicularly  beneath 
his  eyes.  Ralph,  careless  adventurer  rather  than 
student,  had  climbed  to  the  glittering  brass  rail  of 
Maisie's  new  bedstead,  and  was  thereon  imitating  a 
recently  seen  circus  performance.  Maisie,  in  the 
bed  according  to  regulation,  and  lying  on  the  flat  of 
her  back,  was  singing  nonchalantly  to  the  ceiling. 
Carlo,  unaware  that  at  that  moment  he  might  have 
been  a  buried  corpse  but  for  the  benignancy  of  Prov- 
idence in  his  behalf,  was  feeling  sympathetic  towards 
himself  because  he  was  slightly  bored. 

"Hello,  kids!"  Edward  Henry  greeted  them. 
As  he  had  seen  them  before  midday  dinner,  the  more 
formal  ceremonies  of  salutation  after  absence,  so 
hateful  to  the  Five  Towns  temperament,  were  hap- 
pily over  and  done  with. 

Robert  turned  his  head  slightly,  inspected  his 
father  with  a  judicial  detachment  that  hardly  es- 
caped the  inimical,  and  then  resumed  his  book. 

("  No  one  would  think,"  said  Edward  Henry  to 
himself,  "  that  the  person  who  has  just  entered  this 
room  is  the  most  enterprising  and  enlightened  of 
West  End  theatrical  managers.") 

"'Ello,  Father!"  shrilled  Ralph.  "Come  and 
help  me  to  stand  on  this  wire  rope." 

"  It  isn't  a  wire  rope,"  said  Robert  from  the 
hearth-rug,  without  stirring.  "  It's  a  brass  rail." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  wire  rope,  because  I  can  make  it 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  289 

bend,"  Ralph  retorted,  bumping  down  on  the  thing. 
"  Anyhow,  it's  going  to  be  a  wire  rope." 

Maisie  simply  stuck  several  fingers  into  her  mouth, 
shifted  to  one  side,  and  smiled  at  her  father  in  a 
style  of  heavenly  and  mischievous  flirtatiousness. 

'  Well,  Robert,  what  are  you  reading?  "  Edward 
Henry  inquired  in  his  best  fatherly  manner,  half  au- 
thoritative and  half  humorous,  while  he  formed 
part  of  the  staff  of  Ralph's  circus. 

"  I'm  not  reading,  I'm  learning  my  spellings,"  re- 
plied Robert. 

Edward  Henry,  knowing  that  the  discipline  of 
filial  politeness  must  be  maintained,  said:  u  '  Learn- 
ing my  spellings  ' —  what?  " 

"  Learning  my  spellings,  Father,"  Robert  con- 
sented to  say,  but  with  a  savage  air  of  giving  way  to 
the  unreasonable  demands  of  affected  fools.  Why 
indeed  should  it  be  necessary  in  conversation  always 
to  end  one's  sentence  with  the  name  or  title  of  the 
person  addressed? 

'  Well,  would  you  like  to  go  to  London  with  me?  " 

"When?"  the  boy  demanded  cautiously.  He 
still  did  not  move,  but  his  ears  seemed  to  prick  up. 

"  To-morrow?  " 

"  No  thanks  .  .  .  Father."  His  ears  ceased 
their  activity. 

"No?     Why  not?" 

"  Because  there's  a  spellings  examination  on  Fri- 
day, and  I'm  going  to  be  top  boy." 

It  was  a  fact  that  the  infant  (whose  programmes 
were  always  somehow  arranged  in  advance,  and  were 


29o  THE  OLD  ADAM 

in  his  mind  absolutely  unalterable)  could  spell  the 
most  obstreperous  words.  Quite  conceivably  he 
could  spell  better  than  his  father,  who  still  showed 
an  occasional  tendency  to  write  "  separate  "  with 
three  e's  and  only  one  a. 

"  London's  a  fine  place,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

"  I  know,"  said  Robert  negligently. 

;'  What's  the  population  of  London?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Robert  with  curtness,  though 
he  added  after  a  pause :  "  But  I  can  spell  popula- 
tion —  p-o-p-u-l-a-t-i-o-n." 

"  I'll  come  to  London,  Father,  if  you'll  have  me," 
said  Ralph,  grinning  good-naturedly. 

"  Will  you!  "  said  his  father. 

"  Fahver,"  asked  Maisie,  wriggling,  "  have  you 
brought  me  a  doll?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  haven't." 

"  Mother  said  p'r'aps  you  would." 

It  was  true,  there  had  been  talk  of  a  doll ;  he  had 
forgotten  it. 

"  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said  Edward  Henry, 
"  I'll  take  you  to  London,  and  you  can  choose  a  doll 
in  London.  You  never  saw  such  dolls  as  there  are  in 
London  —  talking  dolls  that  shut  and  open  their 
eyes  and  say  Papa  and  Mamma,  and  all  their  clothes 
take  off  and  on." 

"  Do  they  say  '  Father?  '  "  growled  Robert. 

"  No,  they  don't,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

"  Why  don't  they?  "  growled  Robert. 

"When  will  you  take  me?"  Maisie  almost 
squealed. 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  291 

"  To-morrow." 

"  Certain  sure,  Father?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  promise,  Father?  " 

"  Of  course  I  promise." 

Robert  at  length  stood  up  to  judge  for  himself 
this  strange  and  agitating  caprice  of  his  father's  for 
taking  Maisie  to  London.  He  saw  that,  despite 
spellings,  it  would  never  do  to  let  Maisie  alone  go. 
He  was  about  to  put  his  father  through  a  cross-ex- 
amination, but  Edward  Henry  dropped  Ralph,  who 
had  been  climbing  up  him  as  up  a  telegraph-pole,  on 
to  the  bed  and  went  over  to  the  window,  nervously, 
and  tapped  thereon. 

Carlo  followed  him,  wagging  an  untidy  tail. 

"Hello,  Trent!"  murmured  Edward  Henry, 
stooping  and  patting  the  dog. 

Ralph  exploded  into  loud  laughter. 

"  Father's  called  Carlo  '  Trent,'  he  roared. 
"Father,  have  you  forgotten  his  name's  Carlo?'* 
It  was  one  of  the  greatest  jokes  that  Ralph  had 
heard  for  a  long  time. 

Then  Nellie  hurried  into  the  room,  and  Edward 
Henry,  with  a  "  Mustn't  be  late  for  tea,"  as  hur- 
riedly left  it. 

Three  minutes  later,  while  he  was  bent  over  the 
lavatory  basin,  someone  burst  into  the  bathroom. 
He  lifted  a  soapy  face. 

It  was  Nellie,  with  disturbed  features. 

"  What's  this  about  your  positively  promising  to 
take  Maisie  to  London  to-morrow  to  choose  a  doll?  " 


292  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  I'll  take  'em  all,"  he  replied  with  absurd  levity. 
"  And  you  too !  " 

"  But  really  — "  she  pouted,  indicating  that  he 
must  not  carry  the  ridiculous  too  far. 

"  Look  here,  d — n  it,"  he  said  impulsively,  "  I 
want  you  to  come.  And  I  want  you  to  come  to- 
morrow. I  knew  it  was  the  confounded  infants  you 
wouldn't  leave.  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  can't 
arrange  it  —  a  woman  like  you !  " 

She  hesitated. 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  with  three  children  in  a 
London  hotel?  " 

'*  Take  Nurse,  naturally." 

"Take  Nurse?"  she  cried. 

He  imitated  her  with  a  grotesque  exaggeration, 
yelling  loudly,  "Take  Nurse?"  Then  he  planted 
a  soap-sud  on  her  fresh  cheek. 

She  wiped  it  off  carefully  and  smacked  his  arm. 
The  next  moment  she  was  gone,  having  left  the  door 
open. 

"  He  wants  me  to  go  to  London  to-morrow,"  he 
could  hear  her  saying  to  his  mother  on  the  landing. 

"  Confound  it!  "  he  thought.  "  Didn't  she  know 
that  at  dinner-time?  " 

"  Bless  us !  "     His  mother's  voice. 

"  And  take  the  children  —  and  Nurse !  "  his  wife 
continued  in  a  tone  to  convey  the  fact  that  she  was 
just  as  much  disturbed  as  her  mother-in-law  could 
possibly  be  by  the  eccentricities  of  the  male. 

"  He's  his  father  all  over,  that  lad  is!  "  said  his 
mother  strangely. 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  293 

And  Edward  Henry  was  impressed  by  these 
words,  for  not  once  in  seven  years  did  his  mother 
mention  his  father. 

Tea  was  an  exciting  meal. 

"  You'd  better  come  too,  Mother,"  said  Edward 
Henry  audaciously.  "  We'll  shut  the  house  up." 

"  I  come  to  no  London,"  said  she. 

"  Well,  then,  you  can  use  the  motor  as  much  as 
you  like  while  we're  away." 

"  I  go  about  gallivanting  in  no  motor,"  said  his 
mother.  "  It'll  take  me  all  my  time  to  get  this 
house  straight  against  you  come  back." 

"  I  haven't  a  thing  to  go  in !  "  said  Nellie  with  a 
martyr's  sigh. 

After  all  (he  reflected),  though  domesticated,  she 
was  a  woman. 

He  went  to  bed  early.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his 
wife,  his  mother,  and  the  nurse  were  active  and 
whispering  up  and  down  the  house  till  the  very  mid- 
dle of  the  night.  He  arose  not  late,  but  they  were 
all  three  afoot  before  him,  active  and  whispering. 

IX. 

He  found  out  on  the  morning  after  the  highly 
complex  transaction  of  getting  his  family  from  Burs- 
ley  to  London  that  London  held  more  problems  for 
him  than  ever.  He  was  now  not  merely  the  pro- 
prietor of  a  theatre  approaching  completion,  but 
really  a  theatrical  manager  with  a  play  to  produce, 
artistes  to  engage,  and  the  public  to  attract.  He  had 
made  two  appointments  for  that  morning  at  the 


294  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Majestic  (he  was  not  at  the  Grand  Babylon,  because 
his  wife  had  once  stayed  with  him  at  the  Majestic, 
and  he  did  not  want  to  add  to  his  anxieties  the  busi- 
ness of  accustoming  her  to  a  new  and  costlier  lux- 
ury) :  one  appointment  at  nine  with  Marrier,  and  the 
other  at  ten  with  Nellie,  family,  and  Nurse.  He  had 
expected  to  get  rid  of  Marrier  before  ten. 

Among  the  exciting  mail  which  Marrier  had  col- 
lected for  him  from  the  Grand  Babylon  and  else- 
where was  the  following  letter: 

Buckingham  Palace  Hotel. 

^  DEAR  FRIEND:  We  are  all  so  proud  of  you.  I  should  like  some 
time  to  finish  our  interrupted  conversation.  Will  you  come  and 
have  lunch  with  me  one  day  here  at  1.30?  You  needn't  write.  I 
know  how  busy  you  are.  Just  telephone  you  are  coming.  But 
don't  telephone  between  12  and  i,  because  at  that  time  I  always 
take  my  constitutional  in  St.  James's  Park. 

Yours  sincerely, 

E.  A. 

"  Well,"  he  thought.  "  That's  a  bit  thick,  that 
is!  She's  stuck  me  up  with  a  dramatist  I  don't  be- 
lieve in,  and  a  play  I  don't  believe  in,  and  an  actress 
I  don't  believe  in,  and  now  she  — " 

Nevertheless,  to  a  certain  extent  he  was  bluffing 
himself;  for,  as  he  pretended  to  put  Elsie  April 
back  into  her  place,  he  had  disturbing  and  delight- 
ful visions  of  her.  A  clever  creature!  Uncannily 
clever!  Wealthy!  Under  thirty!  Broad-minded! 
No  provincial  prejudices!  .  .  .  Her  voice,  that  al- 
ways affected  his  spine !  Her  delicious  flattery!  .  .  . 
She  was  no  mean  actress  either!  And  the  multifari- 
ousness  of  her  seductive  charm !  In  fact,  she  was  a 
regular  woman  of  the  world,  such  as  you  would  read 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  295 

about  —  if  you  did  read !  .  .  .  He  was  sitting  with 
her  again  in  the  obscurity  of  the  discussion-room  at 
the  Azure  Society's  establishment.  His  heart  was 
beating  again. 

Pooh!  .  .  . 

A  single  wrench,  and  he  ripped  up  the  letter  and 
cast  it  into  one  of  the  red-lined  waste-paper  baskets 
with  which  the  immense  and  rather  shabby  writing- 
room  of  the  Majestic  was  dotted. 

Before  he  had  finished  dealing  with  Mr.  Mar- 
rier's  queries  and  suggestions  —  some  ten  thousand 
in  all  —  the  clock  struck,  and  Nellie  tripped  into  the 
room.  She  was  in  black  silk,  with  hints  here  and 
there  of  gold  chains.  As  she  had  explained,  she  had 
nothing  to  wear,  and  was  therefore  obliged  to  fall 
back  on  the  final  resource  of  every  woman  in  her 
state.  For  in  this  connection  "  nothing  to  wear  " 
signified  "  nothing  except  my  black  silk  " —  at  any 
rate,  in  the  Five  Towns. 

"  Mr.  Marrier  —  my  wife.  Nellie,  this  is  Mr. 
Marrier." 

Mr.  Marrier  was  profuse:  no  other  word  would 
describe  his  demeanour.  Nellie  had  the  timidity  of 
a  young  girl.  Indeed,  she  looked  quite  youthful, 
despite  the  aging  influences  of  black  silk. 

"So  that's  your  Mr.  Marrier!  I  understood 
from  you  he  was  a  clerk !  "  said  Nellie  tartly,  sud- 
denly retransformed  into  the  shrewd  matron  as  soon 
as  Mr.  Marrier  had  profusely  gone.  She  had  con- 
ceived Marrier  as  a  sort  of  Penkethman.  Edward 
Henry  had  hoped  to  avoid  this  interview. 


296  THE  OLD  ADAM 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  answer  to  his  wife's 
remark. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  where  are  the  kids?  " 

"  Waiting  in  the  lounge  with  Nurse,  as  you  said 
to  be."  Her  mien  delicately  informed  him  that 
while  in  London  his  caprices  would  be  her  law,  which 
she  would  obey  without  seeking  to  comprehend. 

"  Well,"  he  went  on,  "  I  expect  they'd  like  the 
parks  as  well  as  anything.  Suppose  we  take  'em  and 
show  'em  one  of  the  parks?  Shall  we?  Besides, 
they  must  have  fresh  air." 

"  All  right,"  Nellie  agreed.  "  But  how  far  will 
it  be?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  we'll  crowd  into  a 
taxi!" 

They  crowded  into  a  taxi,  and  the  children  found 
their  father  in  high  spirits.  Maisie  mentioned  the 
doll.  In  a  minute  the  taxi  had  stopped  in  front  of  a 
toy-shop  surpassing  dreams,  and  they  invaded  the 
toy-shop  like  an  army.  When  they  emerged,  after 
a  considerable  interval,  Nurse  was  carrying  an  enor- 
mous doll,  and  Nellie  was  carrying  Maisie,  and  Ralph 
was  lovingly  stroking  the  doll's  real  shoes.  Robert 
kept  a  profound  silence  —  a  silence  which  had  begun 
in  the  train. 

"  You  haven't  got  much  to  say,  Robert,"  his  father 
remarked  when  the  taxi  set  off  again. 

"  I  know,"  said  Robert  gruffly.  Among  other 
things,  he  resented  his  best  clothes  on  a  week-day. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  London?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Robert. 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  297 

His  eyes  never  left  the  window  of  the  taxi. 

Then  they  visited  the  theatre  —  a  very  fatiguing 
enterprise,  and  also,  for  Edward  Henry,  a  very  nerv- 
ous one.  He  was  as  awkward  in  displaying  that  in- 
choate theatre  as  a  newly-made  father  with  his  first- 
born. Pride  and  shame  fought  for  dominion  over 
him.  Nellie  was  full  of  laudations.  Ralph  enjoyed 
the  ladders. 

"  I  say,"  said  Nellie,  apprehensive  for  Maisie,  on 
the  pavement,  "  this  child's  exhausted  already.  How 
big's  this  park  of  yours?  Because  neither  Nurse 
nor  I  can  carry  her  very  far." 

"  We'll  buy  a  pram,"  said  Edward  Henry.  He 
was  staring  at  a  newspaper  placard  which  said: 
"  Isabel  Joy  on  the  war-path  again.  Will  she  win?  " 

"But—" 

"  Oh,  yes,  we'll  buy  a  pram!     Driver — " 

"  A  pram  Isn't  enough.  You'll  want  coverings 
for  her,  in  this  wind." 

"  Well,  we'll  buy  the  necessary  number  of  eider- 
downs and  blankets,  then,"  said  Edward  Henry. 
"Driver—" 

A  tremendous  business !  For,  in  addition  to  mak- 
ing the  purchases,  he  had  to  feed  his  flock  in  an 
A-B-C  shop,  where  among  the  unoccupied  waitresses 
Maisie  and  her  talkative  winking  doll  enjoyed  a  tri- 
umph. Still,  there  was  plenty  of  time. 

At  a  quarter-past  twelve  he  was  displaying  the 
varied  landscape  beauties  of  the  park  to  his  family. 
Ralph  insisted  on  going  to  the  bridge  over  the  lake, 
and  Robert  silently  backed  him.  And  therefore  the 


298  THE  OLD  ADAM 

entire  party  went.  But  Maisie  was  afraid  of  the 
water,  and  cried.  Now,  the  worst  thing  about 
Maisie  was  that  when  once  she  had  begun  to  cry  it 
was  very  difficult  to  stop  her.  Even  the  most  re- 
markable dolls  were  powerless  to  appease  her  dis- 
tress. 

"  Give  me  the  confounded  pram,  Nurse,"  said 
Edward  Henry,  "  I'll  cure  her." 

But  he  did  not  cure  her.  However,  he  had  to 
stick  grimly  to  the  perambulator.  Nellie  tripped 
primly  in  black  silk  on  one  side  of  it.  Nurse  had  the 
wayward  Ralph  by  the  hand.  And  Robert,  taciturn, 
stalked  alone,  adding  up  London  and  making  a  very 
small  total  of  it. 

Suddenly  Edward  Henry  halted  the  perambulator 
and,  stepping  away  from  it,  raised  his  hat.  An  ex- 
cessively elegant  young  woman  leading  a  Pekinese  by 
a  silver  chain  stopped  as  if  smitten  by  a  magic  dart 
and  held  spellbound. 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  April?"  said  Edward 
Henry  loudly.  "  I  was  hoping  to  meet  you.  This 
is  my  wife.  Nellie,  this  is  Miss  April."  Nellie 
bowed  stiffly  in  her  black  silk.  Naught  of  the  fresh 
maiden  about  her  now  I  And  it  has  to  be  said  that 
Elsie  April,  in  all  her  young  and  radiant  splendour 
and  woman-of-the-worldliness,  was  equally  stiff. 
"  And  there  are  my  two  boys.  And  this  is  my  little 
girl  in  the  pram." 

Maisie  screamed,  and  pushed  an  expensive  doll 
out  of  the  perambulator.  Edward  Henry  saved  it 
by  its  boot  as  it  fell. 


DEALING  WITH  ELSIE  299 

"  And  this  is  her  doll.  And  this  is  Nurse,"  he  fin- 
ished. "  Fine  breezy  morning,  isn't  it?  " 

In  due  course  the  processions  moved  on. 

"  Well,  that's  done !  "  Edward  Henry  muttered 
to  himself,  and  sighed. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  FIRST  NIGHT 
I. 

IT  was  upon  an  evening  in  June  —  and  a  fine 
evening,  full  of  the  exquisite  melancholy  of 
summer  in  a  city  —  that  Edward  Henry  stood 
before  a  window,  drumming  thereon  as  he  had  once, 
a  less  experienced  man  with  hair  slightly  less  gray, 
drummed  on  the  table  of  the  mighty  and  arrogant 
Slosson.  The  window  was  the  window  of  the  man- 
agerial room  of  the  Regent  Theatre.  And  he  could 
scarcely  believe  it,  he  could  scarcely  believe  that  he 
was  not  in  a  dream,  for  the  room  was  papered,  car- 
peted and  otherwise  furnished.  Only  its  electric 
light  fittings  were  somewhat  hasty  and  provisional, 
and  the  white  ceiling  showed  a  hole  and  a  bunch 
of  wires,  like  the  nerves  of  a  hollow  tooth,  whence 
one  of  Edward  Henry's  favourite  chandeliers  would 
ultimately  depend. 

The  whole  of  the  theatre  was  at  least  as  far  ad- 
vanced toward  completion  as  that  room.  A  great 
deal  of  it  was  more  advanced;  for  instance  the  audi- 
torium, foyer,  and  bars,  which  were  utterly  finished, 
so  far  as  anything  ever  is  finished  in  a  changing 
world.  Wonders,  marvels,  and  miracles  had  been 
accomplished.  Mr.  Alloyd,  in  the  stress  of  the 

300 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  301 

job,  had  even  ceased  to  bring  the  Russian  ballet  into 
his  conversations.  Mr.  Alloyd,  despite  a  growing 
tendency  to  prove  to  Edward  Henry  by  authentic 
anecdote  about  midnight  his  general  proposition  that 
women  as  a  sex  treated  him  with  shameful  unfair- 
ness, had  gained  the  high  esteem  of  Edward  Henry 
as  an  architect.  He  had  fulfilled  his  word  about 
those  properties  of  the  auditorium  which  had  to  do 
with  hearing  and  seeing  —  in-so-much  that  the  audi- 
torium was  indeed  unique  in  London.  And  he  had 
taken  care  that  the  clerk  of  the  Works  took  care 
that  the  builder  did  not  give  up  heart  in  the  race 
with  time. 

Moreover  he  had  maintained  the  peace  with  the 
terrible  London  County  Council,  all  of  whose  in- 
specting departments  seemed  to  have  secretly  de- 
cided that  the  Regent  Theatre  should  be  opened, 
not  in  June  as  Edward  Henry  had  decided  but  at 
some  vague  future  date  toward  the  middle  of  the 
century.  Months  earlier  Edward  Henry  had  or- 
dained and  announced  that  the  Regent  Theatre 
should  be  inaugurated  on  a  given  date  in  June,  at 
the  full  height  of  splendour  of  the  London  season, 
and  he  had  astounded  the  theatrical  world  by  adher- 
ing through  thick  and  thin  to  that  date,  and  had 
thereby  intensified  his  reputation  as  an  eccentric;  for 
the  oldest  inhabitant  of  that  world  could  not  recall 
a  case  in  which  the  opening  of  a  new  theatre  had 
not  been  promised  for  at  least  three  widely  different 
dates. 

Edward  Henry  had  now  arrived  at  the  eve  of  the 


302  THE  OLD  ADAM 

date,  and  if  he  had  arrived  there  in  comparative 
safety,  with  a  reasonable  prospect  of  avoiding  com- 
plete shame  and  disaster,  he  felt  and  he  admitted 
that  the  credit  was  due  as  much  to  Mr.  Alloyd  as  to 
himself.  Which  only  confirmed  an  early  impression 
of  his  that  architects  were  queer  people  —  rather 
like  artists  and  poets  in  some  ways,  but  with  a  basis 
of  bricks  and  mortar  to  them. 

His  own  share  in  the  enterprise  of  the  Regent  had 
in  theory  been  confined  to  engaging  the  right  people 
for  the  right  tasks  and  situations;  and  to  signing 
checks.  He  had  depended  chiefly  upon  Mr.  Mar- 
rier,  who,  growing  more  radiant  every  day,  had 
gradually  developed  into  a  sort  of  chubby  Napoleon, 
taking  an  immense  delight  in  detail  and  in  choosing 
minor  hands  at  round-sum  salaries  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment.  Mr.  Marrier  refused  no  call  upon  his 
energy.  He  was  helping  Carlo  Trent  in  the  pro- 
duction and  stage-management  of  the  play.  He 
dried  the  tears  of  girlish  neophytes  at  rehearsals. 
He  helped  to  number  the  stalls.  He  showed  a  pas- 
sionate interest  in  the  tessellated  pavement  of  the  en- 
trance. He  taught  the  managerial  typewriting  girl 
how  to  make  afternoon  tea.  He  went  to  Hitchin  to 
find  a  mediaeval  chair  required  for  the  third  act, 
and  found  it.  In  a  word  he  was  fully  equal  to  the 
post  of  acting  manager.  He  managed!  He  man- 
aged everything  and  everybody  except  Edward 
Henry,  and  except  the  press-agent,  a  functionary 
whose  conviction  of  his  own  indispensability  and  im- 
portance was  so  sincere  that  even  Marrier  shared 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  303 

it  and  left  him  alone  in  his  Bismarckian  operations. 
The  press-agent,  who  sang  in  musical  comedy  chorus 
at  night,  knew  that  if  the  Regent  Theatre  succeeded, 
it  would  be  his  doing  and  his  alone. 

And  yet  Edward  Henry,  though  he  had  delegated 
everything,  had  yet  found  a  vast  amount  of  work  to 
do;  and  was  thereby  exhausted.  That  was  why  he 
was  drumming  on  the  pane.  That  was  why  he  was 
conscious  of  a  foolish  desire  to  shove  his  fist  through 
the  pane.  During  the  afternoon  he  had  had  two 
scenes  with  two  representatives  of  the  Libraries  (so 
called  because  they  deal  in  theatre-tickets  and  not  in 
books)  who  had  declined  to  take  up  any  of  his  tickets 
in  advance.  He  had  commenced  an  action  against  a 
firm  of  bill  posters.  He  had  settled  an  incipient 
strike  in  the  "  limes  "  department,  originated  by  Mr. 
Cosmo  Clark's  views  about  lighting.  He  had  dic- 
tated answers  to  seventy-nine  letters  of  complaint 
from  unknown  people  concerning  the  supply  of  free 
seats  for  the  first  night.  He  had  responded  in  the 
negative  to  a  request  from  a  newspaper  critic  who, 
on  the  score  that  he  was  deaf,  wanted  a  copy  of  the 
play.  He  had  replied  finally  to  an  official  of  the 
County  Council  about  the  smoke  trap  over  the  stage. 
He  had  replied  finally  to  another  official  of  the 
County  Council  about  the  electric  sign.  He  had  at- 
tended to  a  new  curiosity  on  the  part  of  another  of- 
ficial of  the  County  Council  about  the  iron  curtain. 
And  he  had  been  almost  rude  to  still  another  official 
of  the  County  Council  about  the  wiring  of  the  elec- 
tric light  in  the  dressing-rooms.  He  had  been  un- 


304  THE  OLD  ADAM 

mlstakably  and  pleasurably  rude  in  writing  to  Slos- 
sons  about  their  criticisms  of  the  lock  on  the  door 
of  Lord  Woldo's  private  entrance  to  the  theatre. 
Also  he  had  arranged  with  the  representative  of  the 
Chief  Commissioner  of  Police  concerning  the  car- 
riage regulations  for  "  setting-down  and  taking-up." 
And  he  had  indeed  had  more  than  enough.  His 
nerves,  though  he  did  not  know  it,  and  would  have 
scorned  the  imputation,  were  slowly  giving  way. 
Hence,  really,  the  danger  to  the  pane!  Through 
the  pane,  in  the  dying  light  he  could  see  a  cross- 
section  of  Shaftesbury  Avenue,  and  an  aged  news- 
paper lad  leaning  against  a  lamp-post  and  displaying 
a  poster  which  spoke  of  Isabel  Joy.  Isabel  Joy  yet 
again !  That  little  fact  of  itself  contributed  to  his 
exasperation.  He  thought,  considering  the  impor- 
tance of  the  Regent  Theatre  and  the  salary  he  was 
paying  to  his  press-agent,  that  the  newspapers  ought 
to  occupy  their  pages  solely  with  the  metropolitan 
affairs  of  Edward  Henry  Machin.  But  the  wretched 
Isabel  had,  as  it  were,  got  London  by  the  throat. 
She  had  reached  Chicago  from  the  West,  on  her  tri- 
umphant way  home,  and  had  there  contrived  to  be 
arrested,  according  to  boast,  but  she  was  experien- 
cing much  more  difficulty  in  emerging  from  the  Chi- 
cago prison  than  in  entering  it.  And  the  question 
was  now  becoming  acute  whether  the  emissary  of 
the  militant  Suffragettes  would  arrive  back  in  Lon- 
don within  the  specified  period  of  a  hundred  days. 
Naturally,  London  was  holding  its  breath.  London 
will  keep  calm  during  moderate  crises  —  such  as  a 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  305 

national  strike  or  the  agony  of  the  House  of  Lords 
—  but  when  the  supreme  excitation  is  achieved  Lon- 
don knows  how  to  let  itself  go. 

"  If  you  please,  Mr.  Machin  — " 

He  turned.  It  was  his  typewriter,  Miss  Lindop, 
a  young  girl  of  some  thirty-five  years,  holding  a 
tea-tray. 

"  But  I've  had  my  tea  once !  "  he  snapped. 

"  But  you've  not  had  your  dinner,  sir,  and  it's 
half-past  eight!  "  she  pleaded. 

He  had  known  this  girl  for  less  than  a  month  and 
he  paid  her  fewer  shillings  a  week  than  the  years 
of  her  age,  and  yet  somehow  she  had  assumed  a 
worshipping  charge  of  him,  based  on  the  idea  that 
he  was  incapable  of  taking  care  of  himself.  To 
look  at  her  appealing  eyes  one  might  have  thought 
that  she  would  have  died  to  insure  his  welfare. 

"  And  they  want  to  see  you  about  the  linoleum 
for  the  gallery  stairs,"  she  added  timidly.  "  The 
County  Council  man  says  it  must  be  taken  up." 

The  linoleum  for  the  gallery  stairs  I  Something 
snapped  in  him.  He  almost  walked  right  through 
the  young  woman  and  the  tea-tray. 

"  I'll  linoleum  them!  "  he  bitterly  exclaimed,  and 
disappeared. 

II. 

Having  duly  "  linoleumed  them,"  or  rather  hav- 
ing very  annoyingly  quite  failed  to  "  linoleum  them," 
Edward  Henry  continued  his  way  up  the  right- 
hand  gallery  staircase  and  reached  the  auditorium, 


306  THE  OLD  ADAM 

where  to  his  astonishment  a  good  deal  of  electricity, 
at  one  penny  three  farthings  a  unit,  was  blazing. 
Every  seat  in  the  narrow  and  high-pitched  gallery, 
where  at  the  sides  the  knees  of  one  spectator  would 
be  on  a  level  with  the  picture-hat  of  the  spectator 
in  the  row  beneath,  had  a  perfect  and  entire  view 
of  the  proscenium  opening.  And  Edward  Henry 
now  proved  this  unprecedented  fa-ct  by  climb- 
ing to  the  topmost  corner  seat  and  therefrom 
surveying  the  scene  of  which  he  was  monarch. 
The  boxes  were  swathed  in  their  new  white 
dust  sheets;  and  likewise  the  higgledy-piggledy 
stalls,  not  as  yet  screwed  down  to  the  floor,  save 
three  or  four  stalls  in  the  middle  of  the  front  row, 
from  which  the  sheet  had  been  removed.  On  one 
of  these  seats,  far  off  though  it  was,  he  could  descry 
a  paper  bag, —  probably  containing  sandwiches, — 
and  on  another  a  pair  of  gloves  and  a  walking-stick. 
Several  alert  ladies  with  sketchbooks  walked  un- 
easily about  in  the  aisles.  The  orchestra  was  hidden 
in  the  well  provided  for  it,  and  apparently  murmur- 
ing in  its  sleep.  The  magnificent  drop-curtain,  de- 
signed by  Saracen  Givington,  A.  R.  A.,  concealed 
the  stage. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Marrier  and  Carlo  Trent  appeared 
through  the  iron  door  that  gave  communication  —  to 
initiates  —  between  the  wings  and  the  auditorium; 
they  sat  down  in  the  stalls.  And  the  curtain  rose 
with  a  violent  swish,  and  disclosed  the  first  "  set  "  of 
"  The  Orient  Pearl." 

"  What  about  that  amber,  Cosmo?  "     Mr.  Mar- 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  307 

Her  cried  thickly,  after  a  pause,  his  mouth  occupied 
with  sandwich. 

"There  you  are!  "  came  the  reply. 

"  Right!  "  said  Mr.  Marrier.     "  Strike!  " 

"  Don't  strike!  "  contradicted  Carlo  Trent. 

"  Strike,  I  tell  you !  We  must  get  on  with  the 
second  act."  The  voices  resounded  queerly  in  the 
empty  theatre. 

The  stage  was  invaded  by  scene  shifters  before 
the  curtain  could  descend  again. 

Edward  Henry  heard  a  tripipng  step  behind  him. 
It  was  the  faithful  typewriting  girl. 

"  I  say,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  mind  telling  me 
what's  going  on  here?  It's  true  that  in  the  rush  of 
more  important  business  I'd  almost  forgotten  that  a 
theatre  is  a  place  where  they  perform  plays." 

"  It's  the  dress-rehearsal,  Mr.  Machin,"  said  the 
woman,  startled  and  apologetic. 

"  But  the  dress-rehearsal  was  fixed  for  three 
o'clock,"  said  he.  "  It  must  have  been  finished  three 
hours  ago." 

"  I  think  they've  only  just  done  the  first  act,"  the 
woman  breathed.  "  I  know  they  didn't  begin  till 
seven.  Oh!  Mr.  Machin,  of  course  it's  no  affair 
of  mine,  but  I've  worked  in  a  good  many  theatres, 
and  I  do  think  it's  such  a  mistake  to  have  the  dress- 
rehearsal  quite  private.  If  you  get  a  hundred  or  so 
people  in  the  stalls,  then  it's  an  audience,  and 
there's  much  less  delay  and  everything  goes  much 
better.  But  when  it's  private  a  dress-rehearsal  is 
just  like  any  other  rehearsal." 


3o8  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Only  more  so,  perhaps,"  said  Edward  Henry, 
smiling. 

He  saw  that  he  had  made  her  happy;  but  he 
saw  also  that  he  had  given  her  empire  over 
him. 

"  I've  got  your  tea  here,"  she  said,  rather  like  a 
hospital  nurse  now.  "  Won't  you  drink  it?  " 

"  I'll  drink  it  if  it's  not  stewed,"  he  muttered. 

"Oh!"  she  protested.  "Of  course  it  isn't!  I 
poured  it  off  the  leaves  into  another  teapot  before 
I  brought  it  up." 

She  went  behind  the  barrier,  and  reappeared 
balancing  a  cup  of  tea  with  a  slice  of  sultana  cake 
edged  on  the  saucer.  And  as  she  handed  it  to  him 
—  the  sustenance  of  rehearsals  —  she  gazed  at  him 
and  he  could  almost  hear  her  eyes  saying:  'You 
poor  thing!  " 

There  was  nothing  that  he  hated  so  much  as  to 
be  pitied. 

"  You  go  home !  "  he  commanded. 

"Oh,  but—" 

"You  go  home!  See?"  He  paused,  threaten- 
ing. "  If  you  don't  clear  out  on  the  tick,  I'll  chuck 
this  cup  and  saucer  down  into  the  stalls." 

Horrified,  she  vanished. 

He  sighed  his  relief. 

After  some  time,  the  leader  of  the  orchestra 
climbed  into  his  chair,  and  the  orchestra  began  to 
play,  and  the  curtain  went  up  again,  on  the  second 
act  of  the  masterpiece  in  hexameters.  The  new 
scenery,  which  Edward  Henry  had  with  extraordi- 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  309 

nary  courage  insisted  on  Saracen  Givington  substitut- 
ing for  the  original  incomprehensibilities  displayed 
at  the  Azure  Society's  performance,  rather  pleased 
him.  Its  colouring  was  agreeable,  and  it  did  re- 
semble something  definite.  You  could,  though  per- 
haps not  easily,  tell  what  it  was  meant  to  represent. 
The  play  proceeded,  and  the  general  effect  was  sur- 
prisingly pleasant  to  Edward  Henry.  And  then 
Rose  Euclid  as  Haidee  came  on  for  the  great  scene 
of  the  act.  From  the  distance  of  the  gallery  she 
looked  quite  passably  youthful,  and  beyond  question 
she  had  a  dominating  presence  in  her  resplendent 
costume.  She  was  incomparably  and  amazingly  bet- 
ter than  she  had  been  at  the  few  previous  rehearsals 
which  Edward  Henry  had  been  unfortunate  enough 
to  witness.  She  even  reminded  him  of  his  earliest 
entrancing  vision  of  her. 

"  Some  people  may  like  this!  "  he  admitted,  with 
a  gleam  of  optimism.  Hitherto,  for  weeks  past,  he 
had  gone  forward  with  his  preparations  in  the  most 
frigid  and  convinced  pessimism.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  become  involved  in  a  vast  piece  of  ma- 
chinery, and  that  nothing  short  of  blowing  the 
theatre  up  with  dynamite  would  bring  the  cranks  and 
pistons  to  a  stop.  And  yet  it  seemed  to  him  also 
that  everything  was  unreal,  that  the  contracts  he 
signed  were  unreal,  and  the  proofs  he  passed,  and 
the  posters  he  saw  on  the  walls  of  London,  and  the 
advertisements  in  the  newspapers.  Only  the  checks 
he  drew  had  the  air  of  being  real.  And  now,  in  a 
magic  flash,  after  a  few  moments  gazing  at  the 


310  THE  OLD  ADAM 

stage,  he  saw  all  differently.  He  scented  triumph 
from  afar  off,  as  one  sniffs  the  tang  of  the  sea.  On 
the  morrow  he  had  to  meet  Nellie  at  Euston,  and 
he  had  shrunk  from  meeting  her,  with  her  terrible 
remorseless,  provincial,  untheatrical  common  sense; 
but  now,  in  another  magic  flash,  he  envisaged 
the  meeting  with  a  cock-a-doodle-doo  of  hope. 
Strange!  He  admitted  it  was  strange. 

And  then  he  failed  to  hear  several  words  spoken 
by  Rose  Euclid.  And  then  a  few  more.  As  the 
emotion  of  the  scene  grew,  the  proportion  of  her 
words  audible  in  the  gallery  diminished.  Until  she 
became,  for  him,  totally  inarticulate,  raving  away 
there  and  struggling  in  a  cocoon  of  hexameters. 

Despair  seized  him.  His  nervous  system,  every 
separate  nerve  of  it,  was  on  the  rack  once  more. 

He  stood  up  in  a  sort  of  paroxysm  and  called 
loudly  across  the  vast  intervening  space: 

"  Speak  more  distinctly,  please." 

A  fearful  silence  fell  upon  the  whole  theatre. 
The  rehearsal  stopped.  The  building  itself  seemed 
to  be  staggered.  Somebody  had  actually  demanded 
that  words  should  be  uttered  articulately  I 

Mr.  Marrier  turned  toward  the  intruder,  as  one 
determined  to  put  an  end  to  such  singularities. 

"Who's  up  theyah?" 

"  I  am,"  said  Edward  Henry.  "  And  I  want  it 
to  be  clearly  understood  in  my  theatre  that  the  first 
thing  an  actor  has  to  do  is  to  make  himself  heard. 
I  daresay  I'm  devilish  odd,  but  that's  how  I  look  at 
it." 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  311 

"Whom  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Machin?"  asked 
Marrier  in  a  different  tone. 

"  I  mean  Miss  Euclid  of  course.  Here  I've 
spent  Heaven  knows  how  much  on  the  acoustics  of 
this  theatre,  and  I  can't  make  out  a  word  she  says. 
I  can  hear  all  the  others.  And  this  is  the  dress- 
rehearsal!  " 

"  You  must  remember  you're  in  the  gallery,"  said 
Mr.  Marrier  firmly. 

"  And  what  if  I  am !  I'm  not  giving  gallery 
seats  away  to-morrow  night.  It's  true  I'm  giving 
half  the  stalls  away,  but  the  gallery  will  be  paid  for." 

Another  silence. 

Said  Rose  Euclid  sharply,  and  Edward  Henry 
caught  every  word  with  the  most  perfect  distinctness : 

"  I'm  sick  and  tired  of  people  saying  they  can't 
make  out  what  I  say!  They  actually  write  me  let- 
ters about  it!  Why  should  people  make  out  what 
I  say?" 

She  quitted  the  stage. 

Another  silence.  .  .  . 

"  Ring  down  the  curtain,"  said  Mr.  Marrier  in  a 
thrilled  voice. 

m. 

Shortly  afterward  Mr.  Marrier  came  into 
the  managerial  office,  lit  up  now,  where  Ed- 
ward Henry  was  dictating  to  his  typewriter 
and  hospital  nurse,  who,  having  been  caught  in  hat 
and  jacket  on  the  threshold,  had  been  brought  back 
and  was  tapping  his  words  direct  on  to  the  machine. 


312  THE  OLD  ADAM 

It  was  a  remarkable  fact  that  the  sole  proprietor 
of  the  Regent  Theatre  was  now  in  high  spirits  and 
good-humour. 

"  Well,  Marrier,  my  boy,"  he  saluted  the  acting 
manager,  "  how  are  you  getting  on  with  that  re- 
hearsal? " 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Marrier,  "  I'm  not  get- 
ting on  with  it.  Miss  Euclid  refuses  absolutely  to 
proceed.  She's  in  her  dressing-room." 

"  But  why?  "  enquired  Edward  Henry  with  bland 
surprise.  "  Doesn't  she  want  to  be  heard  by  her 
gallery-boys?  " 

Mr.  Marrier  showed  a  feeble  smile. 

"  She  hasn't  been  spoken  to  like  that  for  thirty 
years,"  said  he. 

"  But  don't  you  agree  with  me?  "  asked  Edward 
Henry. 

"  Yes,"   said   Marrier,    "  I   agree  with  you  — " 

"  And  doesn't  your  friend  Carlo  want  his  precious 
hexameters  to  be  heard?  " 

"  We  baoth  agree  with  you,"  said  Marrier. 
"  The  fact  is,  we've  done  all  we  could,  but  it's  no 
use.  She's  splendid;  only — "  He  paused. 

"  Only  you  can't  make  out  ten  per  cent,  of  what 
she  says,"  Edward  Henry  finished  for  him.  "  Well, 
I've  got  no  use  for  that  in  my  theatre."  He  found 
a  singular  pleasure  in  emphasising  the  phrase,  "  my 
theatre." 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  said  Marrier.  "  But  what 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  I've  tried  everything. 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  313 

You've  come  in  and  burst  up  the  entire  show,  if 
you'll  forgive  my  saying  saoh!  " 

"Do?"  exclaimed  Edward  Henry.  "It's  per- 
fectly simple.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  act.  God 
bless  my  soul,  aren't  you  getting  fifteen  pounds 
a  week,  and  aren't  you  my  acting  manager? 
Act,  then!  You've  done  enough  hinting.  You've 
proved  that  hints  are  no  good.  You'd  have  known 
that  from  your  birth  up,  Marrier,  if  you'd  been 
born  in  the  Five  Towns.  Act,  my  boy." 

"  But  haow?     If  she  won't  go  on,  she  won't." 

"  Is  her  understudy  in  the  theatre?  " 

"  Yes.     It's  Miss  Cunningham,  you  knaow." 

"What  salary  does  she  get?" 

"  Ten  pounds  a  week." 

"What  for?" 

"  Well  —  partly  to  understudy,  I  suppose." 

"  Let  her  earn  it,  then.  Go  on  with  the  re- 
hearsal. And  let  her  play  the  part  to-morrow  night. 
She'll  be  delighted,  you  bet." 

"But—" 

"  Miss  Lindop,"  Edward  Henry  interrupted, 
"  will  you  please  read  to  Mr.  Marrier  what  I've 
dictated?"  He  turned  to  Marrier.  "It's  an  in- 
terview with  myself  for  one  of  to-morrow's  papers." 

Miss  Lindop,  with  tears  in  her  voice  if  not  in 
her  eyes,  obeyed  the  order  and,  drawing  the  paper 
from  the  machine,  read  its  contents  aloud. 

Mr.  Marrier  started  back  —  not  in  the  figurative 
but  in  the  literal  sense  —  as  he  listened. 


3i4  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  But  you'll  never  send  that  out!  "  he  exclaimed. 

"Why  not?" 

"  No  paper  will  print  it  1  " 

"  My  dear  Marrier,"  said  Edward  Henry. 
"  Don't  be  a  simpleton.  You  know  as  well  as  I 
do  that  half-a-dozen  papers  will  be  delighted  to 
print  it.  And  all  the  rest  will  copy  the  one  that 
does  print  it.  It'll  be  the  talk  of  London  to-mor- 
row, and  Isabel  Joy  will  be  absolutely  snuffed  out." 

11  Well,"  said  Mr.  Marrier.  "  I  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing!  " 

"Fity  you  didn't,  then!" 

Mr.  Marrier  moved  away. 

"  I  say,"  he  murmured  at  the  door.  "  Don't  you 
think  you  ought  to  read  that  to  Rose  first?  " 

"  I'll  read  it  to  Rose  like  a  bird,"  said  Edward 
Henry. 

Within  two  minutes  —  it  was  impossible  to  get 
from  his  room  to  the  dressing-rooms  in  less  —  he 
was  knocking  at  Rose  Euclid's  door.  "  Who's 
there  ?  "  said  a  voice.  He  entered  and  then  replied, 
"  I  am." 

Rose  Euclid  was  smoking  a  cigarette  and  scratch- 
ing the  arm  of  an  easy-chair  behind  her.  Her  maid 
stood  near  by  with  a  whisky-and-soda. 

"  Sorry  you  can't  go  on  with  the  rehearsal,  Miss 
Euclid,"  said  Edward  Henry  very  quickly.  "  How- 
ever, we  must  do  the  best  we  can.  But  Mr.  Mar- 
rier thought  you'd  like  to  hear  this.  It's  part  of  an 
interview  with  me  that's  going  to  appear  to-morrow 
in  the  press." 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  315 

Without  pausing,  he  went  on  to  read:  "  '  I  found 
Mr.  Alderman  Machin,  the  hero  of  the  Five  Towns 
and  the  proprietor  and  initiator  of  London's  newest 
and  most  up-to-date  and  most  intellectual  theatre, 
surrounded  by  a  complicated  apparatus  of  telephones 
and  typewriters  in  his  managerial  room  at  the  Re- 
gent. He  received  me  very  courteously.  "  Yes," 
he  said  in  response  to  my  question,  "  The  rumour 
is  quite  true.  The  principal  part  in  *  The  Orient 
Pearl '  will  be  played  on  the  first  night  by  Miss 
Euclid's  understudy,  Miss  Olga  Cunningham,  a 
young  woman  of  very  remarkable  talent.  No ;  Miss 
Euclid  is  not  ill  or  even  indisposed.  But  she  and 
I  have  had  a  grave  difference  of  opinion.  The  point 
between  us  was  whether  Miss  Euclid's  speeches 
ought  to  be  clearly  audible  in  the  auditorium.  I 
considered  they  ought.  I  may  be  wrong.  I  may 
be  provincial.  But  that  was  and  is  my  view.  At 
the  dress-rehearsal,  seated  in  the  gallery,  I  could 
not  hear  her  lines.  I  objected.  She  refused  to  con- 
sider the  subject  or  to  proceed  with  the  rehearsal. 
Hlnc  UU  lachrymal "  .  .  .  "  Not  at  all,"  said  Mr. 
Machin  in  reply  to  a  question,  "  I  have  the  highest 
admiration  for  Miss  Euclid's  genius.  I  should  not 
presume  to  dictate  to  her  as  to  her  art.  She  has 
had  a  very  long  experience  of  the  stage,  very  long, 
and  doubtless  knows  better  than  I  do.  Only,  the 
Regent  happens  to  be  my  theatre,  and  I'm  respon- 
sible for  it.  Every  member  of  the  audience  will 
have  a  complete  uninterrupted  view  of  the  stage, 
and  I  intend  that  every  member  of  the  audience 


316  THE  OLD  ADAM 

shall  hear  every  word  that  is  uttered  on  the  stage. 
I'm  odd,  I  know.  But  then  I've  a  reputation  for 
oddness  to  keep  up.  And  by  the  way  I'm  sure  that 
Miss  Cunningham  will  make  a  great  reputation  for 
herself."  '  " 

"Not  while  I'm  here,  she  won't!"  exclaimed 
Rose  Euclid  standing  up,  and  enunciating  her  words 
with  marvellous  clearness. 

Edward  Henry  glanced  at  her,  and  then  continued 
to  read:  "Suggestions  for  headlines.  'Piquant 
quarrel  between  manager  and  star  actress.'  '  Un- 
paralleled situation.'  '  Trouble  at  the  Regent  The- 
atre.' ' 

"  Mr.  Machin,"  said  Rose  Euclid,  "  you  are  not 
a  gentleman." 

"You'd  hardly  think  so,  would  you?"  mused 
Edward  Henry,  as  if  mildly  interested  in  this  new 
discovery  of  Miss  Euclid's. 

"  Maria,"  said  the  star  to  her  maid,  "  go  and 
tell  Mr.  Marrier  I'm  coming." 

"  And  I'll  go  back  to  the  gallery,"  said  Edward 
Henry.  "  It's  the  place  for  people  like  me,  isn't 
it?  I  daresay  I'll  tear  up  this  paper  later,  Miss 
Euclid  —  we'll  see." 

IV. 

On  the  next  night  a  male  figure  in  evening  dress 
and  a  pale  overcoat  might  have  been  seen  standing 
at  the  corner  of  Piccadilly  Circus  and  Lower  Re- 
gent Street,  staring  at  an  electric  sign  in  the  shape 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  317 

of  a   shield  which  said   in  its  glittering,   throbbing 
speech  of  incandescence: 

THE  REGENT 
ROSE  EUCLID 

IN 
THE  ORIENT  PEARL 

The  figure  crossed  the  Circus,  and  stared  at  the 
sign  from  a  new  point  of  view.  Then  it  passed  along 
Coventry  Street,  and  stared  at  the  sign  from  yet 
another  point  of  view.  Then  it  reached  Shaftes- 
bury  Avenue,  and  stared  again.  Then  it  returned 
to  its  original  station.  It  was  the  figure  of  Edward 
Henry  Machin,  savouring  the  glorious  electric  sign 
of  which  he  had  dreamed.  He  lit  a  cigarette,  and 
thought  of  Seven  Sachs  gazing  at  the  name  of  Seven 
Sachs  in  fire  on  the  facade  of  a  Broadway  theatre 
in  New  York.  Was  not  this  London  phenomenon 
at  least  as  fine?  He  considered  it  was.  The  Re- 
gent Theatre  existed  —  there  it  stood!  (What  a 
name  for  a  theatre ! )  Its  windows  were  all  illumi- 
nated. Its  entrance-lamps  bathed  the  pavement  in 
light,  and  in  this  radiance  stood  the  commissionaires 
in  their  military  pride  and  their  new  uniforms.  A 
line  of  waiting  automobiles  began  a  couple  of  yards 
to  the  north  of  the  main  doors  and  continued  round 
all  sorts  of  dark  corners  and  up  all  manner  of  back 
streets  toward  Golden  Square  itself.  Marrier  had 
had  the  automobiles  counted  and  had  told  him  the 
number  — ,  but  such  was  Edward  Henry's  condition 
that  he  had  forgotten.  A  row  of  boards  reared  on 


318  THE  OLD  ADAM 

the  pavement  against  the  walls  of  the  facade  said: 
"  Stalls  Full,"  "  Private  Boxes  Full,"  "  Dress  Circle 
Full,"  "  Upper  Circle  Full,"  "  Pit  Full,"  "  Gallery 
Full."  And  attached  to  the  ironwork  of  the  glazed 
entrance  canopy  was  a  long  board  which  gave  the 
same  information  in  terser  form:  "House  Full." 
The  Regent  had  indeed  been  obliged  to  refuse  quite 
a  lot  of  money  on  its  opening  night. 

After  all,  the  inauguration  of  a  new  theatre  was 
something,  even  in  London !  Important  personages 
had  actually  begged  the  privilege  of  buying  seats 
at  normal  prices,  and  had  been  refused.  Unim- 
portant personages,  such  as  those  who  boast  in  the 
universe  that  they  had  never  missed  a  first  night  in 
the  West  End  for  twenty,  thirty,  or  even  fifty  years, 
had  tried  to  buy  seats  at  abnormal  prices,  and  had 
failed;  which  was  in  itself  a  tragedy.  Edward 
Henry  at  the  final  moment  had  yielded  his  wife's 
stall  to  the  instances  of  a  Minister  of  the  Crown, 
and  at  Lady  Woldo's  urgent  request  had  put  her  into 
Lady  Woldo's  private  landowner's  box,  where  also 
was  Miss  Elsie  April  who  "  had  already  had 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mrs.  Machin."  Edward 
Henry's  first  night  was  an  event  of  magnitude.  And 
he  alone  was  responsible  for  it.  His  volition  alone 
had  brought  into  being  that  grand  edifice  whose 
light  yellow  walls  now  gleamed  in  nocturnal  mystery 
under  the  shimmer  of  countless  electric  bulbs. 

"  There  goes  pretty  nigh  forty  thousand  pounds 
of  my  money!  "  he  reflected,  excitedly. 

And  he  reflected: 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  319 

"  After  all,  I'm  somebody." 

Then  he  glanced  down  Lower  Regent  Street  and 
saw  Sir  John  Pilgrim's  much  larger  theatre,  now 
sublet  to  a  tenant  who  also  was  lavish  with  displays 
of  radiance.  And  he  reflected  that  on  first  nights 
Sir  John  Pilgrim,  in  addition  to  doing  all  that  he 
himself  had  done,  would  hold  the  great  role  on  the 
stage  throughout  the  evening.  And  he  admired  the 
astounding,  dazzling  energy  of  such  a  being,  and 
admitted  ungrudgingly: 

"  He's  somebody  too !  I  wonder  what  part  of 
the  world  he's  illuminating  just  now!  " 

Edward  Henry  did  not  deny  to  his  soul  that  he 
was  extremely  nervous.  He  would  not  and  could 
not  face  even  the  bare  possibility  that  the  first  play 
presented  at  the  new  theatre  might  be  a  failure. 
He  had  meant  to  witness  the  production  incognito 
among  the  crowd  in  the  pit  or  in  the  gallery.  But, 
after  visiting  the  pit  a  few  moments  before  the  cur- 
tain went  up,  he  had  been  appalled  by  the  hard- 
hearted levity  of  the  pit's  remarks  on  things  in 
general.  The  pit  did  not  seem  to  be  in  any  way 
chastened  or  softened  by  the  fact  that  a  fortune, 
that  reputations,  that  careers  were  at  stake.  He 
had  fled  from  the  packed  pit.  (As  for  the  gallery, 
he  decided  that  he  had  already  had  enough  of  the 
gallery.) 

He  had  wandered  about  corridors  and  to  and 
fro  in  his  own  room  and  in  the  wings,  and  even  in 
the  basement,  as  nervous  as  a  lost  cat  or  an  author, 
and  as  self-conscious  as  a  criminal  who  knows  him- 


320  THE  OLD  ADAM 

self  to  be  on  the  edge  of  discovery.  It  was  a  fact 
that  he  could  not  look  people  in  the  eyes.  The  re- 
ception of  the  first  act  had  been  fairly  amiable,  and 
he  had  suffered  horribly  as  he  listened  for  the  ap- 
plause. Catching  sight  of  Carlo  Trent  in  the  dis- 
tance of  a  passage,  he  had  positively  run  away  from 
Carlo  Trent.  The  first  entr'acte  had  seemed  to  last 
for  about  three  months.  Its  nightmarish  length  had 
driven  him  almost  to  lunacy.  The  "  feel  "  of  the 
second  act,  so  far  as  it  mystically  communicated  it- 
self to  him  in  his  place  of  concealment,  had  been 
better.  At  the  end  of  the  second  fall  of  the  cur- 
tain the  applause  had  been  enthusiastic.  Yes,  en- 
thusiastic 1 

Curiously,  it  was  the  revulsion  caused  by  this  new 
birth  of  hope  that,  while  the  third  act  was  being 
played,  had  driven  him  out  of  the  theatre.  His 
wild  hope  needed  ozone.  His  breast  had  to  ex- 
pand in  the  boundless  prairie  of  Piccadilly  Circus. 
His  legs  had  to  walk.  His  arms  had  to  swing. 

Now  he  crossed  the  Circus  again  to  his  own  pave- 
ment and  gazed  like  a  stranger  at  his  own  posters. 
On  several  of  them,  encircled  in  a  scarlet  ring,  was 
the  sole  name  of  Rose  Euclid  —  impressive !  (And 
smaller,  but  above  it,  the  legend  "  E.  H.  Machin. 
Sole  proprietor.")  He  asked  himself  impartially, 
as  his  eyes  uneasily  left  the  poster  and  slipped  round 
the  Circus,  deserted  save  by  a  few  sinister  and  idle 
figures  at  that  hour,  "  Should  I  have  sent  that  inter- 
view to  the  papers,  or  shouldn't  !?...!  wonder. 
I  expect  some  folks  would  say  on  the  whole  I've 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  321 

been  rather  hard  on  Rose  since  I  first  met  her !  .  .  . 
Anyhow,  she's  speaking  up  all  right  to-night  1  "  He 
laughed  shortly. 

A  newsboy  floated  up  from  the  Circus  bearing 
a  poster  with  the  name  of  Isabel  Joy  on  it  in  large 
letters. 

He  thought: 

11  Be  blowed  to  Isabel  Joy!  " 

He  did  not  care  a  fig  for  Isabel  Joy's  competition 
now. 

And  then  a  small  door  opened  in  the  wall  close 
by,  and  an  elegant,  cloaked  woman  came  out  on  to 
the  pavement.  The  door  was  the  private  door  lead- 
ing to  the  private  box  of  Lord  Woldo,  owner  of 
the  ground  upon  which  the  Regent  Theatre  was 
built.  The  woman  he  recognised  with  confusion 
as  Elsie  April,  whom  he  had  not  seen  alone  since  the 
Azure  Society's  night. 

"What  are  you  doing  out  here,  Mr.  Machin?" 
she  greeted  him  with  pleasant  composure. 

"  I'm  thinking,"  said  he. 

"  It's  going  splendidly,"  she  remarked.  "  Really! 
I'm  just  running  round  to  the  stage  door  to  meet 
dear  Rose  as  she  comes  off.  What  a  delight- 
ful woman  your  wife  is!  So  pretty,  and  so  sen- 
sible!" 

She  disappeared  round  the  corner  before  he  could 
compose  a  suitable  husband's  reply  to  this  lauda- 
tion of  a  wife. 

Then  the  commissionaires  at  the  entrance  seemed 
to  start  into  life.  And  then  suddenly  several  pre- 


322  THE  OLD  ADAM 

occupied  men  strode  rapidly  out  of  the  theatre,  but- 
toning their  coats,  and  vanished,  phantom-like. 
Critics,  on  their  way  to  destruction ! 

The  performance  must  be  finishing.  Hastily  he 
followed  in  the  direction  taken  by  Elsie  April. 

He  was  in  the  wings,  on  the  prompt  side.  Close 
by  stood  the  prompter,  an  untidy  youth  with  im- 
perfections of  teeth,  clutching  hard  at  the  red-scored 
manuscript  of  "  The  Orient  Pearl."  Sundry  play- 
ers, of  varying  stellar  degrees,  were  posed  around 
in  the  opulent  costumes  designed  by  Saracen  Giv- 
ington,  A.  R.  A.  Miss  Lindop  was  in  the  back- 
ground, ecstatically  happy,  her  cheeks  a  race-course 
of  tears.  Afar  off,  in  the  centre  of  the  stage,  alone, 
stood  Rose  Euclid,  gorgeous  in  green  and  silver, 
bowing  and  bowing  and  bowing  —  bowing  before 
the  storm  of  approval  and  acclamation  that  swept 
from  the  auditorium  across  the  footlights. 

With  a  sound  like  that  of  tearing  silk,  or  of  a  gi- 
gantic contralto  mosquito,  the  curtain  swished  down, 
and  swished  up,  and  swished  down  again.  Bouquets 
flew  on  to  the  stage  from  the  auditorium  (a  custom 
newly  imported  from  the  United  States  by  Miss  Eu- 
clid, and  encouraged  by  her,  though  contrary  to  the 
lofty  canons  of  London  taste).  The  actress  already 
held  one  huge  trophy,  shaped  as  a  crown,  to  her 
breast.  She  hesitated,  and  then  ran  to  the  wings, 
and  caught  Edward  Henry  by  the  wrist  impulsively, 
madly.  They  shook  hands  in  an  ecstasy.  It  was 
as  though  they  recognised  in  one  another  a  funda- 
mental and  glorious  worth;  it  was  as  though  no 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  323 

words  could  ever  express  the  depth  of  appreciation, 
affection  and  admiration  which  each  intensely  felt 
for  the  other;  it  was  as  though  this  moment  were 
the  final  consecration  of  twin  lives  whose  long,  loyal 
comradeship  had  never  been  clouded  by  the  faintest 
breath  of  mutual  suspicion.  Rose  Euclid  was  still 
the  unparalleled  star,  the  image  of  grace  and  beauty 
and  dominance  upon  the  stage.  And  yet  quite 
clearly  Edward  Henry  saw  close  to  his  the  wrinkled, 
damaged,  daubed  face  and  thin  neck  of  an  old 
woman;  and  it  made  no  difference. 

"  Rose !  "  cried  a  strained  voice,  and  Rose  Euclid 
wrenched  herself  from  him  and  tumbled  with  half 
a  sob  into  the  clasping  arms  of  Elsie  April. 

"  You've  saved  the  intellectual  theatah  for  Lon- 
don, my  boy!  That's  what  you've  done!"  Mar- 
rier  was  now  gripping  his  hand.  And  Edward 
Henry  was  convinced  that  he  had. 

The  strident  vigour  of  the  applause  showed  no 
diminution.  And  through  the  thick  heavy  rain  of 
it  could  be  heard  the  monotonous  insistent  detona- 
tions of  one  syllable : 

"Thorl      Thor!      Thor!      Thor!     Thor!" 

And  then  another  syllable  was  added: 

"  Speech !     Speech !     Speech !     Speech !  " 

Mechanically  Edward  Henry  lit  a  cigarette.  He 
had  no  consciousness  of  doing  so. 

'  Where  is  Trent?  "  people  were  asking. 

Carlo  Trent  appeared  up  a  staircase  at  the  back  of 
the  stage. 

"  You've  got  to  go  on,"  said  Marrier.     "  Now, 


324  THE  OLD  ADAM 

pull  yourself  togethah.  The  Great  Beast  is  calling 
for  you.  Say  a  few  wahds." 

Carlo  Trent  in  his  turn  seized  the  hand  of  Ed- 
ward Henry,  and  it  was  for  all  the  world  as  though 
he  were  seizing  the  hand  of  an  intellectual  and  poetic 
equal,  and  wrung  it. 

"Come  now!"  Mr.  Marrier,  beaming,  admon- 
ished him,  and  then  pushed. 

11  What  must  I  say?  "  stammered  Carlo. 

"  Whatever  comes  into  your  head." 

"  All  right  1     I'll  say  something." 

A  man  in  a  dirty  white  apron,  drew  back  the  heavy 
mass  of  the  curtain  about  eighteen  inches,  and,  Carlo 
Trent  stepping  forward,  the  glare  of  the  footlights 
suddenly  lit  his  white  face.  The  applause,  now  mul- 
tiplied fivefold  and  become  deafening,  seemed  to 
beat  him  back  against  the  curtain.  His  lips  worked. 
He  did  not  bow. 

"  Cam  back,  you  fool  I  "  whispered  Marrier. 

And  Carlo  Trent  stepped  back  into  safe  shelter. 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  something?  " 

"  I  c-couldn't,"  murmured  the  greatest  dramatic 
poet  in  the  world;  and  began  to  cry. 

"  Speech !     Speech !     Speech !     Speech !  " 

"Here!"  said  Edward  Henry  gruffly.  "Get 
out  of  my  way!  I'll  settle  'em.  Get  out  of  my 
way  I  "  And  he  riddled  Carlo  Trent  with  a  fusil- 
lade of  savagely  scornful  glances. 

The  man  in  the  apron  obediently  drew  back  the 
curtain  again,  and  the  next  second  Edward  Henry 
was  facing  an  auditorium  crowded  with  his  patrons. 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  325 

Everybody  was  standing  up,  chiefly  in  the  aisles  and 
crowded  at  the  entrances,  and  quite  half  the  people 
were  waving,  and  quite  a  quarter  of  them  were  shout- 
ing. He  bowed  several  times.  An  age  elapsed. 
His  ears  were  stunned.  But  it  seemed  to  him  that 
his  brain  was  working  with  marvellous  perfection. 
He  perceived  that  he  had  been  utterly  wrong  about 
'  The  Orient  Pearl."  And  that  all  his  advisers  had 
been  splendidly  right.  He  had  failed  to  catch  its 
charm  and  to  feel  its  power.  But  this  audience  — 
this  magnificent  representative  audience  drawn  from 
London  in  the  brilliant  height  of  the  season  —  had 
not  failed. 

It  occurred  to  him  to  raise  his  hand.  And  as 
he  raised  his  hand  it  occurred  to  him  that  his  hand 
held  a  lighted  cigarette.  A  magic  hush  fell  upon 
the  magnificent  audience,  which  owned  all  that  end- 
less line  of  automobiles  outside.  Edward  Henry,  in 
the  hush,  took  a  pull  at  his  cigarette. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  pitching  his 
voice  well,  for  municipal  politics  had  made  him  a 
practised  public  speaker,  "  I  congratulate  you. 
This  evening  you  —  have  succeeded !  " 

There  was  a  roar,  confused,  mirthful,  humorously 
protesting.  He  distinctly  heard  a  man  in  the  front 
row  of  the  stalls  say:  "  Well,  for  sheer  nerve  —  I  " 
And  then  go  off  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

He  smiled  and  retired. 

Marrier  took  charge  of  him. 

"  You  merit  the  entire  confectioner's  shop !  "  ex- 
claimed Marrier,  aghast,  admiring,  triumphant. 


326  THE  OLD  ADAM 

Now  Edward  Henry  had  had  no  Intention  of 
meriting  cake.  He  had  merely  followed  in  speech 
the  secret  train  of  his  thought.  But  he  saw  that  he 
had  treated  a  West  End  audience  as  a  West  End 
audience  had  never  before  been  treated,  and  that 
his  audacity  had  conquered.  Hence  he  determined 
not  to  refuse  the  cake. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  I'd  settle  'em?  "  said  he. 

The  band  played  "  God  Save  the  King." 

VI. 

One  hour  later,  in  the  double-bedded  chamber  at 
the  Majestic,  as  his  wife  lay  in  bed  and  he  was 
methodically  folding  up  a  creased  white  tie  and  in- 
specting his  chin  in  the  mirror,  he  felt  that  he  was 
touching  again,  after  an  immeasurable  interval,  the 
rock-bottom  of  reality.  Nellie,  even  when  he  could 
see  only  her  face,  and  that  in  a  mirror,  was  the 
most  real  phenomenon  in  his  existence,  and  she  pos- 
sessed the  strange  faculty  of  dispelling  all  unreality 
round  about  her. 

"  Well,"  he  said.  "  How  did  you  get  on  in  the 
box?" 

"  Oh  I  "  she  replied,  "  I  got  on  very  well  with  the 
Woldo  woman.  She's  one  of  our  sort.  But  I'm 
not  so  set  up  with  your  Elsie  April." 

"Dash  this  collar  I" 

Nellie  continued: 

"  And  I  can  tell  you  another  thing.  I  don't  envy 
Mr.  Rollo  Wrissel." 

"  What's  Wrissel  got  to  do  with  it?  " 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  327 

"  She  means  to  marry  him." 
"  Elsie  April  means  to  marry  Wrissel?  " 
"  He  was  in  and  out  of  the  box  all  night.     It 
was  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff." 

"What's  amiss  with  my  Elsie  April?"  Edward 
Henry  demanded. 

"  She's  a  thought  too  pleasant  for  my  taste,"  an- 
swered Nellie. 

Astonishing,  how  pleasantness  is  regarded  with 
suspicion  in  the  Five  Towns,  even  by  women  who 
can  at  a  pinch  be  angels  I 

yn. 

Often  during  the  brief  night  he  gazed  sleepily 
at  the  vague  next  bed  and  mused  upon  the 
extraordinariness  of  women's  consciences.  His  wife 
slept  like  an  innocent.  She  always  did.  It  was 
as  though  she  gently  expired  every  evening  and 
returned  gloriously  to  life  every  morning.  The 
sunshiny  hours  between  three  and  seven  were  very 
long  to  him,  but  it  was  indisputable  that  he  did  not 
hear  the  clock  strike  six,  which  was,  at  any  rate, 
proof  of  a  little  sleep  to  the  good.  At  five  minutes 
past  seven  he  thought  he  heard  a  faint  rustling  noise 
in  the  corridor,  and  he  arose  and  tiptoed  to  the  door 
and  opened  it.  Yes,  the  Majestic  had  its  good 
qualities !  He  had  ordered  that  all  the  London 
morning  daily  papers  should  be  laid  at  his  door 
as  early  as  possible,  and  there  the  pile  was,  some- 
what damp,  and  as  fresh  as  fruit,  with  a  slight  odour 
of  ink.  He  took  it  in. 


328  THE  OLD  ADAM 

His  heart  was  beating  as  he  climbed  back  into  bed 
with  it  and  arranged  pillows  so  that  he  could  sit 
up,  and  unfolded  the  first  paper.  Nellie  had  not 
stirred. 

Once  again  he  was  disappointed  in  the  prominence 
given  by  the  powerful  London  press  to  his  London 
enterprise.  In  the  first  newspaper,  a  very  important 
one,  he  positively  could  not  find  any  criticism  of  the 
Regent's  first  night.  There  was  nearly  a  page  of 
the  offensive  Isabel  Joy,  who  was  now  appealing, 
through  the  newspapers,  to  the  President  of  the 
United  States.  Isabel  had  been  christened  the 
World-Circler,  and  the  special  correspondents  of 
the  entire  earth  were  gathered  about  her  carpeted 
cell.  Hope  still  remained  that  she  would  reach 
London  within  the  hundred  days.  An  unknown  ad- 
herent of  the  cause  for  which  she  suffered  had  prom- 
ised to  give  ten  thousand  pounds  to  that  cause  if 
she  did  so.  Furthermore,  she  was  receiving  over 
sixty  proposals  of  marriage  a  day.  And  so  on  and 
so  on!  Most  of  this  he  gathered  in  an  instant  from 
the  headlines  alone.  Nauseating! 

Another  annoying  item  in  the  paper  was  a  column 
and  a  half  given  to  the  foundation-stone  laying  of 
the  First  New  Thought  Church,  in  Dean  Street,  Soho 
—  about  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  from  its  original 
site.  He  hated  the  First  New  Thought  Church  as 
one  always  hates  that  to  which  one  has  done  an  in- 
jury. 

Then  he  found  what  he  was  searching  for:  "  Re- 
gent Theatre.  Production  of  poetical  drama  at  Lon- 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  329 

don's  latest  playhouse."  After  all,  it  was  well  situ- 
ated in  the  paper,  on  quite  an  important  page,  and 
there  was  over  a  column  of  it.  But  in  his  nervous 
excitation  his  eyes  had  missed  it.  His  eyes  now  read 
it.  Over  half  of  it  was  given  to  a  discussion  of  the 
Don  Juan  legend  and  the  significance  of  the  Byronic 
character  of  Haidee  —  obviously  written  before  the 
performance.  A  description  of  the  plot  occupied 
most  of  the  rest,  and  a  reference  to  the  acting  ended 
it.  "  Miss  Rose  Euclid  in  the  trying  and  occasion- 
ally beautiful  part  of  Haidee  was  all  that  her  ad- 
mirers could  have  wished "  .  .  .  "  Miss  Cunning- 
ham distinguished  herself  by  her  diction  and  bearing 
in  the  small  part  of  the  Messenger."  The  final 
words  were:  "The  reception  was  quite  favour- 
able." 

"  Quite  favourable,"  indeed !  Edward  Henry  had 
a  chill.  Good  heavens,  was  not  the  reception  ec- 
statically, madly,  foolishly  enthusiastic?  "Why!" 
he  exclaimed  within,  "  I  never  saw  such  a  recep- 
tion! "  It  was  true;  but  then  he  had  never  seen 
any  other  first  night.  He  was  shocked,  as  well  as 
chilled.  And  for  this  reason:  For  weeks  past  all 
the  newspapers,  in  their  dramatic  gossip,  had  con- 
tained highly  sympathetic  references  to  his  enter- 
prise. According  to  the  paragraphs,  he  was  a 
wondrous  man,  and  the  theatre  was  a  wondrous 
house,  the  best  of  all  possible  theatres,  and  Carlo 
Trent  was  a  great  writer,  and  Rose  Euclid  exactly 
as  marvellous  as  she  had  been  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury before,  and  the  prospects  of  the  intellectual- 


330  THE  OLD  ADAM 

poetic  drama  in  London  so  favourable  as  to  amount 
to  a  certainty  of  success. 

In  those  columns  of  dramatic  gossip  there  was  no 
flaw  in  the  theatrical  world.  In  those  columns  of 
dramatic  gossip  no  piece  ever  failed,  though  some- 
times a  piece  was  withdrawn,  regretfully  and  against 
the  wishes  of  the  public,  to  make  room  for  another 
piece.  In  those  columns  of  dramatic  gossip  theat- 
rical managers,  actors,  and  especially  actresses,  and 
even  authors,  were  benefactors  of  society,  and  there- 
fore they  were  treated  with  the  deference,  the  gentle- 
ness, the  heartfelt  sympathy  which  benefactors  of 
society  merit  and  ought  to  receive. 

The  tone  of  the  criticism  of  the  first  night  was 
different  —  it  was  subtly,  not  crudely,  different. 
But  different  it  was. 

The  next  newspaper  said  the  play  was  bad  and 
the  audience  indulgent.  It  was  very  severe  on  Carlo 
Trent,  and  very  kind  to  the  players,  whom  it  re- 
garded as  good  men  and  women  in  adversity  —  with 
particular  laudations  for  Miss  Rose  Euclid  and  the 
Messenger.  The  next  newspaper  said  the  play  was  a 
masterpiece,  and  would  be  so  hailed  in  any  country  but 
England.  England,  however  — !  Unfortunately 
this  was  a  newspaper  whose  political  opinions  Ed- 
ward Henry  despised.  The  next  newspaper  praised 
everything  and  everybody,  and  called  the  reception 
tumultuously  enthusiastic.  And  Edward  Henry  felt 
as  though  somebody,  mistaking  his  face  for  a  slice 
of  toast,  had  spread  butter  all  over  it.  Even  the 
paper's  parting'  assurance  that  the  future  of  the 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  331 

higher  drama  in  London  was  now  safe  beyond  ques- 
tion did  not  remove  this  delusion  of  butter. 

The  two  following  newspapers  were  more  sketchy 
or  descriptive,  and  referred  at  some  length  to  Ed- 
ward Henry's  own  speech,  with  a  kind  of  sub-hint 
that  Edward  Henry  had  better  mind  what  he  was 
about.  Three  illustrated  papers  had  photographs 
of  scenes  and  figures,  but  nothing  important  in  the 
matter  of  criticism.  The  rest  were  "  neither  one 
thing  nor  the  other,"  as  they  say  in  the  Five  Towns. 
On  the  whole,  an  inscrutable  press,  a  disconcerting, 
a  startling,  an  appetite-destroying,  but  not  a  hopeless 
press.  The  general  impression  which  he  gathered 
from  his  perusals  was  that  the  author  was  a  pre- 
tentious dullard,  an  absolute  criminal,  a  genius;  that 
the  actors  and  actresses  were  all  splendid  and  worked 
hard,  though  conceivably  one  or  two  of  them  had 
been  set  impossible  tasks  —  to  wit,  tasks  unsuited 
to  their  personalities;  that  he  himself  was  a  Na- 
poleon, a  temerarious  individual,  an  incomprehen- 
sible fellow;  and  that  the  future  of  the  intellectual- 
poetic  drama  in  London  was  not  a  topic  of  burning 
actuality.  .  .  .  He  remembered  sadly  the  superla- 
tive-laden descriptions,  in  those  same  newspapers,  of 
the  theatre  itself,  a  week  or  two  back,  the  unique 
theatre  in  which  the  occupant  of  every  seat  had  a 
complete  and  uninterrupted  view  of  the  whole  of 
the  proscenium  opening.  Surely  that  fact  alone 
ought  to  have  ensured  proper  treatment  for  him ! 

Then  Nellie  woke  up,  and  saw  the  scattered 
newspapers. 


332  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"Well,"  she  asked;  "what  do  they  say?" 

"  Oh!  "  he  replied  lightly,  with  a  laugh.  "  Just 
about  what  you'd  expect.  Of  course  you  know  what 
a  first-night  audience  always  is.  Too  generous. 
And  ours  was,  particularly.  Miss  April  saw  to 
that.  She  had  the  Azure  Society  behind  her,  and 
she  was  determined  to  help  Rose  Euclid.  However, 
I  should  say  it  was  all  right  —  I  should  say  it  was 
quite  all  right.  I  told  you  it  was  a  gamble,  you 
know." 

When  Nellie,  dressing,  said  that  she  considered 
she  ought  to  go  back  home  that  day,  he  offered  no 
objection.  Indeed  he  rather  wanted  her  to  go. 
Not  that  he  had  a  desire  to  spend  the  whole  of  his 
time  at  the  theatre,  unhampered  by  provincial 
women  in  London.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  aware 
of  a  most  definite  desire  not  to  go  to  the  theatre. 
He  lay  in  bed  and  watched  with  careless  curiosity 
the  rapid  processes  of  Nellie's  toilette.  He  had 
his  breakfast  on  the  dressing-table  (for  he  was  not 
at  Wilkins's,  neither  at  the  Grand  Babylon).  Then 
he  helped  her  to  pack,  and  finally  he  accompanied 
her  to  Euston,  where  she  kissed  him  with  affection- 
ate common  sense  and  caught  the  twelve  five.  He 
was  relieved  that  nobody  from  the  Five  Towns  hap- 
pened to  be  going  down  by  that  train. 

As  he  turned  away  from  the  moving  carriage,  the 
evening  papers  had  just  arrived  at  the  bookstalls. 
He  bought  the  four  chief  organs  —  one  green,  one 
yellowish,  one  white,  one  pink  —  and  scanned  them 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT 


333 


self-consciously  on  the  platform.  The  white  organ 
had  a  good  heading:  "  Re-birth  of  the  intellectual 
drama  in  London.  What  a  provincial  has  done. 
Opinions  of  the  leading  men."  Two  columns  alto- 
gether! There  was,  however,  little  in  the  two  col- 
umns. The  leading  men  had  practised  a  sagacious 
caution.  They,  like  the  press  as  a  whole,  were  ob- 
viously waiting  to  see  which  way  the  great  elephan- 
tine public  would  jump.  When  the  enormous  ani- 
mal had  jumped,  they  would  all  exclaim :  '  What 
did  I  tell  you?"  The  other  critiques  were  colour- 
less. At  the  end  of  the  green  critique  occurred  the 
following  sentence :  "  It  is  only  fair  to  state,  never- 
theless, that  the  play  was  favourably  received  by 
an  apparently  enthusiastic  audience." 
"Nevertheless!"  .  .  .  "Apparently!" 
Edward  Henry  turned  the  page  to  the  theatrical 
advertisements. 


TWENTY   YARDS    FROM   PICCADILLY    CIRCUS 


REGENT  THEATRE  *Tesat83° 


Mats.  Wed.  &  Sat  at  2:30 


™^  ROSE  EUCLID 

By  CARLO  TRENT  THE  ORIENT  PEARL 

Box  Office  Open  10  to  10 
Proprietor E.  H.  Machin 


Unreal!      Fantastic!      Was    this    he,     Edward 
Henry?     Could  it  be  still  his  mother's  son? 

Still  — "  matinees   every  Wednesday   and  Satur- 


334  THE  OLD  ADAM 

day."  "  Every  Wednesday  and  Saturday."  That 
word  implied  and  necessitated  a  long  run,  anyhow 
a  run  extending  over  months.  That  word  comforted 
him.  Though  he  knew  as  well  as  you  do  that  Mr. 
Marrier  had  composed  the  advertisement,  and  that 
he  himself  was  paying  for  it,  it  comforted  him.  He 
was  just  like  a  child. 

VIII. 

"I  say,  Cunningham's  made  a  hit!"  Mr.  Mar- 
rier almost  shouted  at  him  as  he  entered  the  mana- 
gerial room  at  the  Regent. 

"  Cunningham?     Who's  Cunningham?" 

Then  he  remembered.  She  was  the  girl  who 
played  the  Messenger.  She  had  only  three  words 
to  say,  and  to  say  them  over  and  over  again;  and  she 
had  made  a  hit! 

"  Seen  the  notices?  "  asked  Marrier. 

"Yes,     What  of  them?" 

"Oh!  Well!"  Marrier  drawled.  "What 
would  you  expect?  " 

"  That's  just  what  /  said !  "  observed  Edward 
Henry. 

"  You  did,  did  you?  "  Mr.  Marrier  exclaimed,  as 
if  extremely  interested  by  this  corroboration  of  his 
views. 

Carlo  Trent  strolled  in;  he  remarked  that  he  hap- 
pened to  be  just  passing.  But  the  discussion  of  the 
situation  was  not  carried  very  far. 

That  evening  the  house  was  nearly  full,  except  the 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  335 

pit  and  the  gallery,  which  were  nearly  empty.  Ap- 
plause was  perfunctory. 

"How  much?"  Edward  Henry  enquiied  of  the 
box-office  manager  when  figures  were  added  together. 
'  Thirty-one  pounds  two  shillings." 

"Hem!" 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Marrier.  "  In  the  height 
of  the  London  season,  with  so  many  counter-attrac- 
tions— !  Besides,  they've  got  to  get  used  to  the 
idea  of  it." 

Edward  Henry  did  not  turn  pale.  Still,  he  was 
aware  that  it  cost  him  a  trifle  over  sixty  pounds  "  to 
ring  the  curtain  up  "  at  every  performance,  and  this 
sum  took  no  account  of  expenses  of  production  nor 
of  author's  fees.  The  sum  would  have  been  higher, 
but  he  was  calculating  as  rent  of  the  theatre  only 
the  ground-rent  plus  six  per  cent,  on  the  total  price 
of  the  building. 

What  disgusted  him  was  the  duplicity  of  the  first- 
night  audience,  and  he  said  to  himself  violently: 
"  I  was  right  all  the  time,  and  I  knew  I  was  right! 
Idiots!  Chumps!  Of  course  I  was  right!" 

On  the  third  night  the  house  held  twenty-seven 
pounds  and  sixpence. 

"  Naturally,"  said  Mr.  Marrier.  "  In  this  hot 
weathah  — !  I  never  knew  such  a  hot  June!  It's 
the  open-air  places  that  are  doing  us  in  the  eye.  In 
fact  I  heard  to-day  that  the  White  City  is  packed. 
They  simply  can't  bank  their  money  quick  enough." 

It  was  on  that  day  that  Edward  Henry  paid  sal- 


336  THE  OLD  ADAM 

aries.  It  appeared  to  him  that  he  was  providing 
half  London  with  a  livelihood:  acting  managers, 
stage  managers,  assistant  ditto,  property  men,  stage 
hands,  electricians,  prompters,  call  boys,  box-office 
staff,  general  staff,  dressers,  commissionaires,  pro- 
gramme girls,  cleaners,  actors,  actresses,  under- 
studies, to  say  nothing  of  Rose  Euclid  at  a  purely 
nominal  salary  of  one  hundred  pounds  a  week.  The 
tenants  of  the  bars  were  grumbling,  but  happily  he 
was  getting  money  from  them. 

The  following  day  was  Saturday.  It  rained  — 
a  succession  of  thunderstorms.  The  morning  and 
the  evening  performances  produced  together  sixty- 
eight  pounds. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Marrier.  "  In  this  kind  of 
weathah  you  can't  expect  people  to  come  out,  can 
you?  Besides,  this  cursed  week-ending  habit — " 

Which  conclusions  did  not  materially  modify  the 
harsh  fact  that  Edward  Henry  was  losing  over  thirty 
pounds  a  day  —  or  at  the  rate  of  over  ten  thousand 
pounds  a  year. 

He  spent  Sunday  between  his  hotel  and  his  club, 
chiefly  in  reiterating  to  himself  that  Monday  began 
a  new  week  and  that  something  would  have  to  oc- 
cur on  Monday. 

Something  did  occur. 

Carlo  Trent  lounged  into  the  office  early.  The 
man  was  forever  being  drawn  to  the  theatre  as  by 
an  invisible  but  powerful  elastic  cord.  The  papers 
had  a  worse  attack  than  ever  of  Isabel  Joy,  for  she 
had  been  Convicted  of  transgression  in  a  Chicago 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  337 

court  of  law,  but  a  tremendous  lawyer  from  St. 
Louis  had  loomed  over  Chicago  and,  having  ex- 
amined the  documents  in  the  case,  was  hopeful  of 
getting  the  conviction  quashed.  He  had  discovered 
that  in  one  and  the  same  document  "  Isabel  "  had 
been  spelt  "  Isobel,"  and,  worse,  Illinois  had  been 
deprived  by  a  careless  clerk  of  one  of  its  "  1's."  He 
was  sure  that  by  proving  these  grave  irregularities 
in  American  justice  he  could  win  on  appeal. 

Edward  Henry  glanced  up  suddenly  from  the 
newspaper.  He  had  been  inspired. 

"  I  say,  Trent,"  he  remarked,  without  any  warn- 
ing or  preparation,  "  you're  not  looking  at  all  well. 
I  want  a  change  myself.  I've  a  good  mind  to  take 
you  for  a  sea  voyage." 

"Oh!"  grumbled  Trent.  "I  can't  afford  sea 
voyages." 

"  /  can  1  "  said  Edward  Henry.  "  And  I  shouldn't 
dream  of  letting  it  cost  you  a  penny.  I'm  not  a 
philanthropist.  But  I  know  as  well  as  anybody  that 
it  will  pay  us  theatrical  managers  to  keep  you  in 
health." 

"  You're  not  going  to  take  the  play  off?  "  Trent 
demanded  suspiciously. 

"  Certainly  not!  "  said  Edward  Henry. 

"  What  sort  of  a  sea  voyage?  " 

"  Well  —  what  price  the  Atlantic  ?  Been  to  New 
York?  .  .  .  Neither  have  I!  Let's  go.  Just  for 
the  trip.  It'll  do  us  good." 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  murmured  the  greatest 
dramatic  poet,  who  had  never  voyaged  farther  than 


338  THE  OLD  ADAM 

the  Isle  of  Wight.     His  eyeglass  swung  to  and  fro. 

Edward  Henry  feigned  to  resent  this  remark. 

"  Of  course  I  mean  it.  Do  you  take  me  for 
a  blooming  gas-bag?"  He  rose.  "Marrier!" 
Then  more  loudly:  "Marrier!"  Mr.  Marrier 
entered.  "  Do  you  know  anything  about  the  sail- 
ings to  New  York?" 

"Rather!"  said  Mr.  Marrier,  beaming.  After 
all  he  was  a  most  precious  aid. 

"  We  may  be  able  to  arrange  for  a  production  in 
New  York,"  said  Edward  Henry  to  Carlo,  mys- 
teriously. 

Mr.  Marrier  gazed  at  one  and  then  at  the  other, 
puzzled. 


CHAPTER  X 

ISABEL 
I. 

THROUGHOUT  the  voyage  of  the  Lithu- 
ania from  Liverpool  to  New  York,  Edward 
Henry,  in  common  with  some  two  thousand 
other  people  on  board,  had  the  sensation  of  being 
hurried.     He  who  in  a  cab  rides  late  to  an  important 
appointment  arrives  with  muscles  fatigued  by  men- 
tally aiding  the  horse  to  move  the  vehicle  along. 
Thus  were  Edward  Henry's  muscles  fatigued,  and 
the  muscles  of  many  others;  but  just  as  much  more  so 
as  the  Lithuania  was  bigger  than  a  cab. 

For  the  Lithuania,  having  been  seriously  delayed 
in  Liverpool  by  men  who  were  most  ridiculously 
striking  for  the  fantastic  remuneration  of  one  pound 
a  week,  was  engaged  on  the  business  of  making  new 
records.  And  every  passenger  was  personally  de- 
termined that  she  should  therein  succeed.  And, 
despite  very  bad  June  weather  toward  the  end,  she 
did  sail  past  the  Battery  on  a  grand  Monday  morn- 
ing with  a  new  record  to  her  credit. 

So  far,  Edward  Henry's  plan  was  not  miscarrying. 
But  he  had  a  very  great  deal  to  do  and  very  little 
time  in  which  to  do  it,  and  whereas  the  muscles  of 

339 


340  THE  OLD  ADAM 

the  other  passengers  were  relaxed  as  the  ship  drew 
to  her  berth  Edward  Henry's  muscles  were  only 
more  tensely  tightened.  He  had  expected  to  see 
Mr.  Seven  Sachs  on  the  quay,  for  in  response  to 
his  telegram  from  Queenstown,  the  illustrious  actor- 
author  had  sent  him  an  agreeable  wireless  message 
in  full  Atlantic;  the  which  had  inspired  Edward 
Henry  to  obtain  news  by  Marconi  both  from  London 
and  New  York,  at  much  expense;  from  the  east  he 
had  had  daily  information  of  the  dwindling  receipts 
at  the  Regent  Theatre,  and  from  the  west  daily  in- 
formation concerning  Isabel  Joy.  He  had  not,  how- 
ever, expected  Mr.  Seven  Sachs  to  walk  into  the 
Lithuania's  music-saloon  an  hour  before  the  ship 
touched  the  quay.  Nevertheless  this  was  what  Mr. 
Seven  Sachs  did,  by  the  exercise  of  those  mysterious 
powers  wielded  by  the  influential  in  democratic  com- 
munities. 

"And  what  are  you  doing  here?"  Mr.  Seven 
Sachs  greeted  Edward  Henry  with  geniality. 

Edward  Henry  lowered  his  voice. 

"  I'm  throwing  good  money  after  bad,"  said  he. 

The  friendly  grip  of  Mr.  Seven  Sach's  hand  did 
him  good,  reassured  him,  and  gave  him  courage. 
He  was  utterly  tired  of  the  voyage,  and  also  of  the 
poetical  society  of  Carlo  Trent,  whose  passage  had 
cost  him  thirty  pounds,  considerable  boredom,  and 
some  sick-nursing  during  the  final  days  and  nights. 
A  dramatic  poet  with  an  appetite  was  a  full  dose  for 
Edward  Henry;  but  a  dramatic  poet  who  lay  on 
his  back  and  moaned  for  naught  but  soda  water  and 


ISABEL  341 

dry  land  amounted  to  more  than  Edward  Henry 
could  conveniently  swallow. 

He  directed  Mr.  Sachs's  attention  to  the  anguished 
and  debile  organism  which  had  once  been  Carlo 
Trent,  and  Mr.  Sachs  was  so  sympathetic  that  Carlo 
Trent  began  to  adore  him,  and  Edward  Henry  to  be 
somewhat  disturbed  in  his  previous  estimate  of  Mr. 
Sachs's  common  sense.  But  at  a  favourable  mo- 
ment Mr.  Sachs  breathed  humorously  into  Edward 
Henry's  ear  the  question : 

:'  What  have  you  brought  him  out  for?  " 

"  I've  brought  him  out  to  lose  him." 

As  they  pushed  through  the  bustle  of  the  enor- 
mous ship,  and  descended  from  the  dizzy  eminence 
of  her  boat  deck  by  lifts  and  ladders  down  to  the 
level  of  the  windy,  sun-steeped  rock  of  New  York, 
Edward  Henry  said: 

"  Now  I  want  you  to  understand,  Mr.  Sachs,  that 
I  haven't  a  minute  to  spare.  I've  just  looked  in  for 
lunch." 

"  Going  on  to  Chicago?  " 

"  She  isn't  in  Chicago,  is  she?  "  demanded  Edward 
Henry,  aghast.  "  I  thought  she'd  reached  New 
York!" 

"Who?" 

"  Isabel  Joy." 

"  Oh !  Isabel's  in  New  York,  sure  enough. 
She's  right  here.  They  say  she'll  have  to  catch  the 
Lithuania  if  she's  going  to  get  away  with  it." 

"  Get  away  with  what?  " 

"Well  — the  goods." 


342  THE  OLD  ADAM 

The  precious  words  reminded  Edward  Henry  of 
an  evening  at  Wilkins's,  and  raised  his  spirits  even 
higher.  It  was  a  word  he  loved. 

"  And  I've  got  to  catch  the  Lithuania,  too  1  "  said 
he.  "  But  Trent  doesn't  know !  .  .  .  And,  let  me 
tell  you,  she's  going  to  do  the  quickest  turn  round 
that  any  ship  ever  did.  The  purser  assured  me 
she'll  leave  at  noon  to-morrow  unless  the  world 
comes  to  an  end  in  the  meantime.  Now  what  about 
a  hotel?" 

"  You'll  stay  with  me  —  naturally." 

"  But  — "  Edward  Henry  protested. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will.     I  shall  be  delighted." 

"  But  I  must  look  after  Trent." 

"  He'll  stay  with  me  too  —  naturally.  I  live  at 
the  Stuyvesant  Hotel,  you  know,  on  Fifth.  I've  a 
pretty  good  private  suite  there.  I  shall  arrange  a 
little  supper  for  to-night.  My  automobile  is  here." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  I  once  saved  your  life  and 
have  forgotten  all  about  it?"  Edward  Henry  ex- 
claimed. "  Or  do  you  treat  everybody  like  this?" 

"  We  like  to  look  after  our  friends,"  said  Mr. 
Sachs  simply. 

In  the  terrific  confusion  of  the  quay,  where  groups 
of  passengers  were  mounted  like  watch  dogs  over 
hillocks  of  baggage,  Mr.  Sachs  stood  continually 
between  the  travellers  and  the  administrative  rigours 
and  official  incredulity  of  a  proud  republic.  And 
in  the  minimum  of  time  the  fine  trunk  of  Edward 
Henry  and  the  modest  packages  of  the  poet  were  on 
the  roof  of  Mr.  Sachs's  vast  car,  the  three  men  were 


ISABEL  343 

inside,  and  the  car  was  leaping,  somewhat  in  the 
manner  of  a  motor  boat  at  full  speed,  over  the 
cobbles  of  a  wide,  mediaeval  street. 

"  Quick!  "  thought  Edward  Henry.  "  I  haven't 
a  minute  to  lose !  " 

His  prayer  reached  the  chauffeur.  Conversation 
was  difficult;  Carlo  Trent  groaned.  Presently  they 
rolled  less  perilously  upon  asphalt,  though  the  equip- 
age still  lurched.  Edward  Henry  was  forever  bend- 
ing his  head  toward  the  window  aperture  in  order  to 
glimpse  the  roofs  of  the  buildings,  and  never  seeing 
the  roofs. 

"  Now  we're  on  Fifth,"  said  Mr.  Sachs,  after  a 
fearful  lurch,  with  pride. 

Vistas  of  flags,  high  cornices,  crowded  pavements, 
marble,  jewelry  behind  glass  —  the  whole  seen 
through  a  roaring  phantasmagoria  of  competing  and 
menacing  vehicles ! 

And  Edward  Henry  thought: 

"  This  is  my  sort  of  place !  " 

The  jolting  recommenced.  Carlo  Trent  re- 
bounded, limply  groaning,  between  cushions  and  up- 
holstery. Edward  Henry  tried  to  pretend  that  he 
was  not  frightened.  Then  there  was  a  shock  as  of 
the  concussion  of  two  equally  unyielding  natures.  A 
pane  of  glass  in  Mr.  Seven  Sachs's  limousine  flew  to 
fragments  and  the  car  stopped. 

"  I  expect  that's  a  spring  gone!  "  observed  Mr. 
Sachs  with  tranquillity.  "  Will  happen,  you  know, 
sometimes!  " 

Everybody   got   out.     Mr.   Sachs's   presumption 


344  THE  OLD  ADAM 

was  correct.  One  of  the  back  wheels  had  failed  to 
leap  over  a  hole  in  Fifth  Avenue  some  eighteen 
inches  deep  and  two  feet  long. 

"  What  is  that  hole?  "  asked  Edward  Henry. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Sachs.  "It's  just  a  hole. 
We'd  better  transfer  to  a  taxi."  He  gave  calm  or- 
ders to  his  chauffeur. 

Four  empty  taxis  passed  down  the  sunny  magnifi- 
cence of  Fifth  Avenue  and  ignored  Mr.  Sachs's 
urgent  waving.  The  fifth  stopped.  The  baggage 
was  strapped  and  tied  to  it:  which  process  occupied 
much  time.  Edward  Henry,  fuming  against  delay, 
gazed  around.  A  nonchalant  policeman  on  a  superb 
horse  occupied  the  middle  of  the  road.  Tram  cars 
passed  constantly  across  the  street  in  front  of  his 
caracoling  horse,  dividing  a  route  for  themselves  in 
the  wild  ocean  of  traffic  as  Moses  cut  into  the  Red 
Sea.  At  intervals  a  knot  of  persons,  intimidated  and 
yet  daring,  would  essay  the  voyage  from  one  pave- 
ment to  the  opposite  pavement;  there  was  no  half- 
way refuge  for  these  adventurers,  as  in  decrepit 
London;  some  apparently  arrived;  others  seemed  to 
disappear  forever  in  the  feverish  welter  of  confused 
motion  and  were  never  heard  of  again.  The  police- 
man, easily  accommodating  himself  to  the  caracolings 
of  his  mount,  gazed  absently  at  Edward  Henry,  and 
Edward  Henry  gazed  first  at  the  policeman,  and 
then  at  the  high  decorated  grandeur  of  the  buildings, 
and  then  at  the  Assyrian  taxi  into  which  Mr.  Sachs 
was  now  ingeniously  inserting  Carlo  Trent.  He 
thought : 


ISABEL  345 

"  No  mistake  —  this  street  is  alive.  But  what 
cemeteries  they  must  have !  " 

He  followed  Carlo,  with  minute  precautions,  into 
the  interior  of  the  taxi.  And  then  came  the  su- 
premely delicate  operation  —  that  of  introducing  a 
third  person  into  the  same  vehicle.  It  was  accom- 
plished; three  chins  and  six  knees  fraternized  in 
close  intimacy;  but  the  door  would  not  shut. 
Wheezing,  snorting,  shaking,  complaining,  the  taxi 
drew  slowly  away  from  Mr.  Sachs's  luxurious  auto- 
mobile and  left  it  forlorn  to  its  chauffeur.  Mr. 
Sachs  imperturbably  smiled.  ("I  have  two  other 
automobiles,"  said  Mr.  Sachs.)  In  some  sixty  sec- 
onds the  taxi  stopped  in  front  of  the  tremendous 
glass  awning  of  the  Stuyvesant.  The  baggage  was 
unstrapped;  the  passengers  were  extracted  one  by 
one  from  the  cell,  and  Edward  Henry  saw  Mr.  Sachs 
give  two  separate  dollar  bills  to  the  driver. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  murmured. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Sachs  politely. 

"  Nothing!  "  said  Edward  Henry. 

They  walked  into  the  hotel,  and  passed  through  a 
long  succession  of  corridors  and  vast  public  rooms 
surging  with  well-dressed  men  and  women. 

"What's  all  this  crowd  for?"  asked  Edward 
Henry. 

"  What  crowd?  "  asked  Mr.  Sachs,  surprised. 

Edward  Henry  saw  that  he  had  blundered. 

"  I  prefer  the  upper  floors,"  remarked  Mr.  Sachs 
as  they  were  being  flung  upward  in  a  gilded  elevator, 
and  passing  rapidly  all  numbers  from  i  to  14. 


346  THE  OLD  ADAM 

The  elevator  made  an  end  of  Carlo  Trent's  man- 
hood. He  collapsed.  Mr.  Sachs  regarded  him,  and 
then  said: 

"  I  think  I'll  get  an  extra  room  for  Mr.  Trent. 
He  ought  to  go  to  bed." 

Edward  Henry  enthusiastically  concurred. 

"  And  stay  there !  "  said  Edward  Henry. 

Pale  Carlo  Trent  permitted  himself  to  be  put  to 
bed.  But,  therein,  he  proved  fractious.  He  was 
anxious  about  his  linen.  Mr.  Sachs  telephoned  from 
the  bedside,  and  a  laundry  maid  came.  He  was 
anxious  about  his  best  lounge  suit.  Mr.  Sachs  tele- 
phoned, and  a  valet  came.  Then  he  wanted  a  siphon 
of  soda  water,  and  Mr.  Sachs  telephoned,  and  a 
waiter  came.  Then  it  was  a  newspaper  he  required. 
Mr.  Sachs  telephoned  and  a  page  came.  All  these 
functionaries,  together  with  two  reporters,  peopled 
Mr.  Trent's  bedroom  more  or  less  simultaneously. 
It  was  Edward  Henry's  bright  notion  to  add  to  them 
a  doctor  —  a  doctor  whom  Mr.  Sachs  knew,  a  doctor 
who  would  perceive  at  once  that  bed  was  the  only 
proper  place  for  Carlo  Trent. 

"  Now,"  said  Edward  Henry,  when  he  and  Mr. 
Sachs  were  participating  in  a  private  lunch  amid  the 
splendours  and  the  grim  silent  service  of  the  latter's 
suite  at  the  Stuyvesant,  "  I  have  fully  grasped  the 
fact  that  I  am  in  New  York.  It  is  one  o'clock  and 
after,  and  as  soon  as  ever  this  meal  is  over,  I  have 
just  got  to  find  Isabel  Joy.  You  must  understand 
that  on  this  trip  New  York  for  me  is  merely  a  town 
where  Isabel  Joy  happens  to  be." 


ISABEL  347 

"  Well,"  replied  Mr.  Sachs.  "  I  reckon  I  can 
put  you  on  to  that.  She's  going  to  be  photo- 
graphed at  two  o'clock  by  Rentoul  Smiles.  I  hap- 
pen to  know  because  Rent's  a  particular  friend  of 
mine." 

"  A  photographer,  you  say?  " 

Mr.  Sachs  controlled  himself.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  say  you've  not  heard  of  Rentoul  Smiles?  .  .  . 
Well,  he's  called  '  Man's  photographer.'  He  has 
never  photographed  a  woman!  Won't!  At  least, 
wouldn't!  But  he's  going  to  photograph  Isabel! 
So  you  may  guess  that  he  considers  Isabel  some 
woman,  eh?  " 

"  And  how  will  that  help  me?  "  inquired  Edward 
Henry. 

"Why I  I'll  take  you  up  to  Rent's,"  Mr.  Sachs 
comforted  him.  "  It's  close  by  —  corner  of  Thirty- 
ninth  and  Fifth." 

"  Tell  me,"  Edward  Henry  demanded,  with  im- 
mense relief.  "  She  hasn't  got  herself  arrested  yet, 
has  she?  " 

"  No.     And  she  won't." 

"Why  not?" 

"  The  police  have  been  put  wise,"  said  Mr.  Sachs. 

"Put  wise?" 

"Yes.     Put  wise!" 

"  I  see,"  said  Edward  Henry. 

But  he  did  not  see.     He  only  half  saw. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  Mr.  Sachs,  "  Isabel 
can't  get  away  with  the  goods  unless  she  fixes  the 
police  to  lock  her  up  for  a  few  hours.  And  she'll 


348  THE  OLD  ADAM 

not  succeed  in  that.  Her  hundred  days  are  up  in 
London  next  Sunday.  So  there'll  be  no  time  for  her 
to  be  arrested  and  bailed  out  either  at  Liverpool  or 
Fishguard.  And  that's  her  only  chance.  I've  seen 
Isabel,  and  if  you  ask  me  my  opinion  she's  down 
and  out." 

"  Never  mind!  "  said  Edward  Henry  with  glee. 

"  I  guess  what  you  are  after  her  for,"  said  Mr. 
Seven  Sachs,  with  an  air  of  deep  knowledge. 

"  The  deuce  you  do !  " 

"Yes,  sir!  And  let  me  tell  you  that  dozens  of 
'em  have  been  after  her  already.  But  she  wouldn't ! 
Nothing  would  tempt  her." 

"Never  mind!  "  Edward  Henry  smiled. 

II. 

When  Edward  Henry  stood  by  the  side  of  Mr. 
Sachs  in  a  doorway  half  shielded  by  a  portiere,  and 
gazed  unseen  into  the  great  studio  of  Mr.  Rentoul 
Smiles,  he  comprehended  that  he  was  indeed  under 
powerful  protection  in  New  York.  At  the  entrance 
on  Fifth  Avenue  he  and  Sachs  had  passed  through 
a  small  crowd  of  assorted  men,  chiefly  young,  whom 
Sachs  had  greeted  in  the  mass  with  the  smiling 
words,  "  Well,  boys !  "  Other  men  were  within. 
Still  another  went  up  with  them  in  the  elevator,  but 
no  further.  They  were  reporters  of  the  entire 
world's  press,  to  each  of  whom  Isabel  Joy  had  been 
specially  "  assigned."  They  were  waiting;  they 
would  wait.  Mr.  Rentoul  Smiles,  having  been 
warned  by  telephone  of  the  visit  of  his  beloved 


ISABEL  349 

friend  Seven  Sachs  and  his  English  protege  had 
been  received  at  Smile's  outer  door  by  a  clerk  who 
knew  exactly  what  to  do  with  them,  and  did  it. 

"  Is  she  here?  "  Mr.  Sachs  had  murmured. 

"  Yep,"  the  clerk  had  negligently  replied. 

And  now  Edward  Henry  beheld  the  objective  of 
his  pilgrimage,  her  whose  personality,  portrait,  and 
adventures  had  been  filling  the  newspapers  of  two 
hemispheres  for  three  weeks.  She  was  not  realis- 
tically like  her  portraits.  She  was  a  little,  thin, 
pale,  obviously  nervous  woman,  of  any  age  from 
thirty-five  to  fifty,  with  fair  untidy  hair,  and  pale 
grey-blue  eyes  that  showed  the  dreamer,  the  idealist, 
and  the  harsh  fanatic.  She  looked  as  though  a  mod- 
erate breeze  would  have  overthrown  her,  but  she 
also  looked,  to  the  enlightened  observer,  as  though 
she  would  recoil  before  no  cruelty  and  no  suffering 
in  pursuit  of  her  vision.  The  blind  dreaming  force 
behind  her  apparent  frailty  would  strike  terror  into 
the  heart  of  any  man  intelligent  enough  to  under- 
stand it.  Edward  Henry  had  an  inward  shudder. 
"Great  Scott!"  he  reflected.  "I  shouldn't  like 
to  be  ill  and  have  Isabel  for  a  nurse !  " 

And  his  mind  at  once  flew  to  Nellie,  and  then  to 
Elsie  April.  "  And  so  she's  going  to  marry  Wris- 
sell !  "  he  reflected,  and  could  scarcely  believe  it. 

Then  he  violently  wrenched  his  mind  back  to  the 
immediate  objective.  He  wondered  why  Isabel 
Joy  should  wear  a  bowler  hat  and  mustard-coloured 
jacket  that  resembled  a  sporting  man's  overcoat;  and 
why  these  garments  suited  her.  With  a  whip  in 


350  THE  OLD  ADAM 

her  hand  she  could  have  sat  for  a  jockey.  And  yet 
she  was  a  woman,  and  very  feminine,  and  probably 
old  enough  to  be  Elsie  April's  mother!  A  discon- 
certing world,  he  thought. 

The  "  man's  photographer,"  as  he  was  described 
in  copper  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  in  gold  on  his  own 
doors,  was  a  big,  loosely-articulated  male,  who 
loured  over  the  trifle  Isabel  like  a  cloud  over  a 
sheep  in  a  great  field.  Edward  Henry  could  only 
see  his  broad  bending  back  as  he  posed  in  athletic 
attitudes  behind  the  camera. 

Suddenly  Rentoul  Smiles  dashed  to  a  switch,  and 
Isabel's  wistful  face  was  transformed  into  that  of 
a  drowned  corpse,  into  a  dreadful  harmony  of  greens 
and  purples. 

"  Now,"  said  Rentoul  Smiles,  in  a  deep  voice 
that  was  like  a  rich  unguent.  "  We'll  try  again. 
We'll  just  play  around  that  spot.  Look  into  my  eyes. 
Not  at  my  eyes,  my  dear  woman,  into  them  I  Just 
a  little  more  challenge  —  a  little  more  I  That's  it. 
Don't  wink,  for  the  land's  sake!  Now!  " 

He  seized  a  bulb  at  the  end  of  a  tube  and  slowly 
squeezed  —  squeezed  it  tragically  and  remorselessly, 
twisting  himself  as  if  suffering  in  sympathy  with  the 
bulb,  and  then  in  a  wide  sweeping  gesture  he  flung 
the  bulb  on  to  the  top  of  the  camera,  and  ejaculated: 

uHa!" 

Edward  Henry  thought: 

"  I  would  give  ten  pounds  to  see  Rentoul  Smiles 
photograph  Sir  John  Pilgrim."  But  the  next  in- 
stant the  forgotten  sensation  of  hurry  was  upon  him. 


ISABEL  351 

once  more.  Quick,  quick,  Rentoul  Smiles  I  Ed- 
ward Henry's  scorching  desire  was  to  get  done  and 
leave  New  York. 

"  Now,  Miss  Isabel,"  Mr.  Smiles  proceeded,  ex- 
asperatingly  deliberate,  "  d'you  know,  I  feel  kind 
of  guilty?  I  have  got  a  little  farm  out  in  West- 
chester  County  and  I'm  making  a  little  English  path- 
way up  the  garden  with  a  gate  at  the  end.  I  woke 
up  this  morning  and  began  to  think  about  the  quaint 
English  form  of  that  gate,  and  just  how  I  would 
have  it."  He  raised  a  finger.  "  But  I  ought  to 
have  been  thinking  about  you.  I  ought  to  have 
been  saying  to  myself,  '  To-day  I  have  to  photo- 
graph Isabel  Joy,'  and  trying  to  understand  in  medi- 
tation the  secrets  of  your  personality.  I'm  sorry  1 
Now,  don't  talk.  Keep  like  that.  Move  your 
head  round.  Go  on!  Go  on!  Move  it!  Don't 
be  afraid.  This  place  belongs  to  you.  It's  yours. 
Whatever  you  do,  we've  got  people  here  who'll 
straighten  up  after  you.  .  .  .  D'you  know  why  I've 
made  money?  I've  made  money  so  that  I  can  take 
you  this  afternoon,  and  tell  a  two-hundred-dollar 
client  to  go  to  the  deuce.  That's  why  I've  made 
money.  Put  your  back  against  the  chair,  like  an 
Englishwoman.  That's  it.  No,  don't  talk,  I  tell 
you.  Now  look  joyful,  hang  it!  Look  joyful. 
.  .  .  No,  no !  Joy  isn't  a  contortion.  It's  some- 
thing right  deep  down.  There,  there !  " 

The  lubricant  voice  rolled  on  while  Rentoul 
Smiles  manipulated  the  camera.  He  clasped  the 
bulb  again,  and  again  threw  it  dramatically  away. 


352  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  I'm  through !  "  he  said.  "  Don't  expect  any- 
thing very  grand,  Miss  Isabel.  What  I've  been 
trying  to  do  this  afternoon  is  my  interpretation  of 
you  as  I've  studied  your  personality  in  your  speeches. 
If  I  believed  wholly  in  your  cause,  or  if  I  wholly 
disbelieved  in  it,  my  work  would  not  have  been 
good.  Any  value  that  it  has  will  be  due  to  the 
sympathetic  impartiality  of  my  spiritual  attitude. 
Although  " —  he  menaced  her  with  the  licenced  fa- 
miliarity of  a  philosopher — "Although,  lady,  I 
must  say  that  I  felt  you  were  working  against  me  all 
the  time.  .  .  .  This  way!  " 

(Edward  Henry,  recalling  the  comparative  sim- 
plicity of  the  London  photographer  at  Wilkins's, 
thought:  "  How  profoundly  they  understand  pho- 
tography in  America!  ") 

Isabel  Joy  rose  and  glanced  at  the  watch  in  her 
bracelet;  then  followed  the  direction  of  the  male 
hand,  and  vanished. 

Rentoul  Smiles  turned  instantly  to  the  other  door- 
way. 

"  How  do,  Rent?  "  said  Seven  Sachs,  coming  for- 
ward. 

"  How  do,  Seven?"  Mr.  Rentoul  Smiles  winked. 

"  This  is  my  good  friend,  Alderman  Machin,  the 
theatre-manager  from  London." 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,  sir." 

"She's  not  gone,  has  she?"  asked  Sachs  hur- 
riedly. 

"  No,  my  housekeeper  wanted  to  talk  to  her. 
.Come  along." 


ISABEL  353 

And  in  the  waiting  room,  full  of  permanent  ex- 
amples of  the  results  of  Mr.  Rentoul  Smiles's  spir- 
itual attitude  toward  his  fellow  men,  Edward  Henry 
was  presented  to  Isabel  Joy.  The  next  instant  the 
two  men  and  the  housekeeper  had  unobtrusively  re- 
tired, and  he  was  alone  with  his  objective.  In  truth 
Seven  Sachs  was  a  notable  organiser. 

ill. 

She  was  sitting  down  in  a  cosy-corner,  her  feet 
on  a  footstool,  and  she  seemed  a  negligible  physical 
quantity  as  he  stood  in  front  of  her.  This  was  she 
who  had  worsted  the  entire  judicial  and  police  sys- 
tem of  Chicago,  who  spoke  pentecostal  tongues,  who 
had  circled  the  globe,  and  held  enthralled  • — so 
journalists  computed  —  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
million  of  the  inhabitants  of  Marseilles,  Athens, 
Port  Said,  Candy,  Calcutta,  Bangkok,  Hong  Kong, 
Tokio,  Hawaii,  San  Francisco,  Salt  Lake  City,  Den- 
ver, Chicago,  and  lastly  New  York  I  This  was 
she  I 

"  I  understand  we're  going  home  on  the  same 
ship!  "  he  was  saying. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  almost  appealingly. 

"  You  won't  see  anything  of  me,  though,"  she 
said. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Tell  me,"  said  she,  not  answering  his  question. 
"What  do  they  say  of  me,  really,  in  England?  I 
don't  mean  the  newspapers.  For  instance,  well,— t 
the  Azure  Society.  Do  you  know  of  it?  " 


354  THE  OLD  ADAM 

He  nodded. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  repeated. 

He  related  the  episode  of  the  telegram  at  the 
private  first  performance  of  "  The  Orient  Pearl." 

She  burst  out,  in  a  torrent  of  irrelevant  pro- 
test: 

'  The  New  York  police  have  not  treated  me  right. 
It  would  have  cost  them  nothing  to  arrest  me  and 
let  me  go.  But  they  wouldn't.  Every  man  in  the 
force  —  you  hear  me,  every  man  —  has  had  strict 
orders  to  leave  me  unmolested.  It  seems  they  re- 
sent my  dealings  with  the  police  in  Chicago,  where 
I  brought  about  the  dismissal  of  four  officers,  so 
they  say.  And  so  I'm  to  be  boycotted  in  this  man- 
ner! Is  that  argument,  Mr.  Machin?  Tell  me. 
You're  a  man,  but  honestly,  is  it  argument?  Why, 
it's  just  as  mean  and  despicable  as  brute  force." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Edward  Henry  softly. 

"  Do  you  really  think  it  will  harm  the  militant 
cause  ?  Do  they  really  think  so  ?  No,  it  will  only 
harm  me.  I  made  a  mistake  in  tactics.  I  trusted 
t —  fool !  —  to  the  chivalry  of  the  United  States. 
I  might  have  been  arrested  in  a  dozen  cities,  but 
I,  on  purpose,  reserved  my  last  two  arrests  for  Chi- 
cago and  New  York,  for  the  sake  of  the  superior 
advertisement,  you  see!  I  never  dreamt!  —  Now 
it's  too  late.  I  am  defeated!  I  shall  just  arrive 
in  London  on  the  hundredth  day.  I  shall  have  made 
speeches  at  all  the  meetings.  But  I  shall  be  short 
of  one  arrest.  And  the  ten  thousand  pounds  will 
be  lost  to  the  cause.  The  militants  here  —  such  as 


ISABEL  355; 

they  are  —  are  as  disgusted  as  I  am.  But  they 
scorn  me.  And  are  they  not  right?  Are  they  not 
right?  There  should  be  no  quarter  for  the  van- 
quished." 

"  Miss  Joy,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  I've  come 
over  from  England  specially  to  see  you.  I  want  to 
make  up  the  loss  of  that  ten  thousand  pounds  as 
far  as  I  can.  I'll  explain  at  once.  I'm  running  a 
poetical  play  of  the  highest  merit,  called  '  The  Orient 
Pearl,'  at  my  new  theatre  in  Piccadilly  Circus.  If 
you  will  undertake  a  small  part  in  it,  a  part  of  three 
words  only,  I'll  pay  you  a  record  salary  —  sixty-six 
pounds  thirteen  and  fourpence  a  word,  two  hundred 
pounds  a  week!  " 

Isabel  Joy  jumped  up. 

"  Are  you  another  of  them,  then?  "  she  muttered. 
"  I  did  think  from  the  look  of  you  that  you  would 
know  a  gentlewoman  when  you  met  one!  Did  you 
imagine  for  the  thousandth  part  of  one  second  that 
I  would  stoop  — " 

"  Stoop !  "  exclaimed  Edward  Henry.  "  My  the- 
atre is  not  a  music-hall  • — " 

"  You  want  to  make  it  into  one !  "  she  stopped 
him. 

"  Good-day  to  you,"  she  said.  "  I  must  face 
those  journalists  again,  I  suppose.  Well,  even  they 
—  1  I  came  alone  in  order  to  avoid  them.  But 
it  was  hopeless.  Besides,  is  it  my  duty  to  avoid 
them  —  after  all?" 

It  was  while  passing  through  the  door  that  she 
uttered  the  last  words. 


356  THE  OLD  ADAM 

'Where  is  she?"  Seven  Sachs  enquired,  enter- 
ing. 

"  Fled!  "  said  Edward  Henry. 

"  Everything  all  right?  " 

"Quite!" 

Mr.  Rentoul  Smiles  came  in. 

"  Mr.  Smiles,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  did  you 
ever  photograph  Sir  John  Pilgrim?" 

"  I  did,  on  his  last  visit  to  New  York.  Here  you 
are!" 

He  pointed  to  his  rendering  of  Sir  John. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  him?  " 

"  A  great  actor,  but  a  mountebank,  sir." 

During  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  Edward 
Henry  saw  the  whole  of  New  York,  with  bits  of 
the  Bronx  and  Yonkers  in  the  distance,  from  Seven 
Sach's  second  automobile.  In  his  third  automobile 
he  went  to  the  theatre  and  saw  Seven  Sachs  act  to 
a  house  of  over  two  thousand  dollars.  And  lastly 
he  attended  a  supper  and  made  a  speech.  But  he 
insisted  upon  passing  the  remainder  of  the  night 
on  the  Lithuania.  In  the  morning  Isabel  Joy  came 
aboard  early  and  irrevocably  disappeared  into  her 
berth.  And  from  that  moment  Edward  Henry 
spent  the  whole  secret  force  of  his  individuality  in 
fervently  desiring  the  Lithuania  to  start.  At  two 
o'clock,  two  hours  late,  she  did  start.  Edward 
Henry's  farewells  to  the  admirable  and  hospitable 
Mr.  Sachs  were  somewhat  absent-minded,  for  al- 
ready his  heart  was  in  London.  But  he  had  suf- 


ISABEL  357 

ficient  presence  of  mind  to  make  certain  final  arrange- 
ments. 

"  Keep  him  at  least  a  week,"  said  Edward  Henry 
to  Seven  Sachs,  "  and  I  shall  be  your  debtor  for  ever 
and  ever." 

He  meant  Carlo  Trent,  still  bedridden. 

As  from  the  receding  ship  he  gazed  in  abstrac- 
tion at  the  gigantic,  inconvenient  word  —  common  to 
three  languages  —  which  is  the  first  thing  seen  by 
the  arriving,  and  the  last  thing  seen  by  the  depart- 
ing, visitor,  he  meditated: 

"  The  dearness  of  living  in  the  United  States 
has  certainly  been  exaggerated." 

For  his  total  expenses,  beyond  the  confines  of  the 
quay,  amounted  to  one  cent,  disbursed  to  buy  an 
evening  paper  which  had  contained  a  brief  inter- 
view with  himself  concerning  the  future  of  the  in- 
tellectual drama  in  England.  He  had  told  the  press- 
man that  "  The  Orient  Pearl  "  would  run  a  hundred 
nights.  Save  for  putting  "  The  Orient  Girl  "  in- 
stead of  "  The  Orient  Pearl,"  and  two  hundred 
nights  instead  of  one  hundred  nights,  this  interview 
was  tolerably  accurate. 

IV. 

Two  entire  interminable  days  of  the  voyage  elapsed 
before  Edward  Henry  was  clever  enough  to  en- 
counter Isabel  Joy  —  the  most  famous  and  the  least 
visible  person  on  the  ship.  He  remembered  that 
she  had  said:  "You  won't  see  anything  of  me." 


358  THE  OLD  ADAM 

It  was  easy  to  ascertain  the  number  of  her  state- 
room —  a  double-berth  which  she  shared  with  no- 
body. But  it  was  less  easy  to  find  out  whether  she 
ever  left  it,  and  if  so,  at  what  time  of  day.  He 
could  not  mount  guard  in  the  long  corridor;  and  the 
stewardesses  on  the  Lithuania  were  mature,  experi- 
enced and  uncommunicative  women,  their  sole  weak- 
ness being  an  occasional  tendency  to  imagine  that 
they,  and  not  the  captain,  were  in  supreme  charge 
of  the  steamer.  However,  Edward  Henry  did  at 
last  achieve  his  desire.  And  on  the  third  morning, 
at  a  little  before  six  o'clock,  he  met  a  muffled  Isabel 
Joy  on  the  D  deck.  The  D  deck  was  wet,  having 
just  been  swabbed;  and  a  boat,  chosen  for  that 
dawn's  boat  drill,  ascended  past  them  on  its  way 
from  the  sea  level  to  the  busy  boat  deck  above;  on 
the  other  side  of  an  iron  barrier,  large  crowds  of 
early-rising  third-class  passengers  were  standing  and 
talking,  and  staring  at  the  oblong  slit  of  sea  which 
was  the  only  prospect  offered  by  the  D  deck;  it  was 
the  first  time  that  Edward  Henry  aboard  had  ever 
set  eyes  on  a  steerage  passenger;  with  all  the  con- 
ceit natural  to  the  occupant  of  a  costly  stateroom,  he 
had  unconsciously  assumed  that  he  and  his  like  had 
sole  possession  of  the  ship. 

Isabel  responded  to  his  greeting  in  a  very  natural 
way.  The  sharp  freshness  of  the  summer  morning 
at  sea  had  its  tonic  effect  on  both  of  them;  and  as 
for  Edward  Henry,  he  lunged  and  plunged  at  once 
into  the  subject  which  alone  preoccupied  and  exas- 
perated him.  She  did  not  seem  to  resent  it. 


ISABEL  359 

"  You'd  have  the  satisfaction  of  helping  on  a 
thing  that  all  your  friends  say  ought  to  be  helped," 
he  argued.  "  Nobody  but  you  can  do  it.  Without 
you,  there'll  be  a  frost.  You  would  make  a  lot  of 
money,  which  you  could  spend  in  helping  on  things 
of  your  own.  And  surely  it  isn't  the  publicity  that 
you're  afraid  of!  " 

"  No,"  she  agreed.  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  pub- 
licity." Her  pale  grey-blue  eyes  shone  as  they  re- 
garded the  secret  dream  that  for  her  hung  always 
unseen  in  the  air.  And  she  had  a  strange,  wistful, 
fragile,  feminine  mien  in  her  mannish  costume. 

"Well  then—" 

"But  can't  you  see  it's  humiliating?"  cried  she, 
as  if  interested  in  the  argument. 

"  It's  not  humiliating  to  do  something  that  you 
can  do  well  —  I  know  you  can  do  it  well  —  and  get 
a  large  salary  for  it,  and  make  the  success  of  a  big 
enterprise  by  it.  If  you  knew  the  play — " 

"  I  do  know  the  play,"  she  said.  "  We'd  lots 
of  us  read  it  in  manuscript  long  ago." 

Edward  Henry  was  somewhat  dashed  by  this  in- 
formation. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  I  think  it's  just  splendiH !  "  said  she  with  en- 
thusiasm. 

"  And  will  it  be  any  worse  a  play  because  you  act 
a  small  part  in  it?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  shortly. 

"  I  expect  you  think  it's  a  play  that  people  ought 
to  go  and  see,  don't  you?  " 


360  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  I  do,  Mr.  Socrates,"  she  admitted. 

He  wondered  what  she  could  mean,  but  continued: 

"  What  does  it  matter  what  it  is  that  brings  the 
audience  into  the  theatre,  so  long  as  they  get  there 
and  have  to  listen?  " 

She  sighed. 

"  It's  no  use  discussing  with  you,"  she  murmured. 
"  You're  too  simple  for  this  world.  I  daresay 
you're  honest  enough  —  in  fact  I  think  you  are  — 
but  there  are  so  many  things  that  you  don't  under- 
stand. You're  evidently  incapable  of  understanding 
them." 

"  Thanks !  "  he  replied,  and  paused  to  recover  his 
self-possession.  "  But  let's  get  right  down  to  busi- 
ness now.  If  you'll  appear  in  this  play,  I'll  not 
merely  give  you  two  hundred  pounds  a  week,  but 
I'll  explain  to  you  how  to  get  arrested  and  still 
arrive  in  triumph  in  London  before  midnight  on 
Sunday." 

She  recoiled  a  step,  and  raised  her  eyes. 

"  How?  "  she  demanded,  as  with  a  pistol. 

"Ah  I  "he  said.  "  That's  just  it.  How?  Will 
you  promise?" 

"  I've  thought  of  everything,"  she  said  musingly. 
"  If  the  last  day  was  any  day  but  Sunday  I  could 
get  arrested  on  landing  and  get  bailed  out,  and  still 
be  in  London  before  night.  But  on  Sunday  —  no! 
So  you  needn't  talk  like  that." 

"  Still,"  he  said,  "  it  can  be  done." 

"  How,"  she  demanded  again. 

"  Will  you  sign  a  contract  with  me,  if  I  tell  you? 


ISABEL  361 

.  .  .  Think  of  what  your  reception  in  London  will 
be  if  you  win  after  all!  Just  think!  " 

Those  pale  eyes  ^gleamed,  for  Isabel  Joy  had 
tasted  the  noisy  flattery  of  sympathetic  and  of  ad- 
verse crowds,  and  her  being  hungered  for  it  again; 
the  desire  of  it  had  become  part  of  her  nature. 

She  walked  away,  her  hands  in  the  pockets  of  her 
ulster,  and  returned. 

"What  is  your  scheme?" 

"You'll  sign?" 

"  Yes,  if  it  works." 

"  I  can  trust  you?  " 

The  little  woman  of  forty  or  so  blazed  up. 
"  You  can  refrain  from  insulting  me  by  doubting 
my  word,"  said  she. 

"  Sorry !     Sorry  I  "  he  apologised. 

V. 

That  same  evening,  in  the  colossal  many-tabled 
dining-saloon  of  the  Lithuania  Edward  Henry  sat  as 
usual  to  the  left  of  the  purser's  empty  chair  at  the 
purser's  table,  where  were  about  a  dozen  other  men. 
A  page  brought  him  a  marconigram.  He  opened 
it,  and  read  the  single  word  "  Nineteen."  It  was 
the  amount  of  the  previous  evening's  receipts  at  the 
Regent,  in  pounds.  He  was  now  losing  something 
like  forty  pounds  a  night  —  without  counting  the 
expenses  of  the  present  excursion.  The  band  began 
to  play  as  the  soup  was  served,  and  the  ship  rolled 
politely,  gently,  but  nevertheless  unmistakably,  ac- 
complishing one  complete  roll  to  about  sixteen 


362  THE  OLD  ADAM 

bars  of  the  music.  Then  the  entire  saloon  was 
suddenly  excited.  Isabel  Joy  had  entered.  She 
was  in  the  gallery,  near  the  orchestra,  at  a  small 
table  alone.  Everybody  became  aware  of  the  fact 
in  an  instant,  and  scores  of  necks  on  the  lower  floor 
were  twisted  to  glimpse  the  celebrity  on  the  upper. 
It  was  remarked  that  she  wore  a  magnificent  evening 
dress. 

One  subject  of  conversation  now  occupied  all  the 
tables.  And  it  was  fully  occupying  the  purser's  table 
when  the  purser,  generally  a  little  late,  owing  to  the 
arduousness  of  his  situation  on  the  ship,  entered  and 
sat  down.  Now  the  purser  was  a  Northerner,  from 
Durham,  a  delightful  companion  in  his  lighter 
moods,  but  dour,  and  with  a  high  conception  of  au- 
thority and  of  the  intelligence  of  dogs.  He  would 
relate  that  when  he  and  his  wife  wanted  to  keep  a 
secret  from  their  Yorkshire  terrier  they  had  to  spell 
the  crucial  words  in  talk,  for  the  dog  understood 
their  every  sentence. 

The  purser's  views  about  the  cause  represented  by 
Isabel  Joy  were  absolutely  clear.  None  could  mis- 
take them,  and  the  few  clauses  which  he  curtly  added 
to  the  discussion  rather  damped  the  discussion,  and 
there  was  a  pause. 

"What  should  you  do,  Mr.  Purser,"  said  Ed- 
ward Henry,  "  if  she  began  to  play  any  of  her  tricks 
here?" 

"  If  she  began  to  play  any  of  her  tricks  on  this 
ship,"  answered  the  purser,  putting  his  hands  on  his 
stout  knees,  "  we  should  know  what  to  do." 


ISABEL  363 

"  Of  course  you  can  arrest?  " 

"  Most  decidedly.  I  could  tell  you  things  — " 
The  purser  stopped,  for  experience  had  taught  him 
to  be  very  discreet  with  passengers  until  he  had 
voyaged  with  them  at  least  ten  times.  He  con- 
cluded: "  The  captain  is  the  representative  of  Eng' 
lish  law  on  an  English  ship." 

And  then,  in  the  silence  created  by  the  resting 
orchestra,  all  in  the  saloon  could  hear  a  clear,  pier- 
cing woman's  voice,  oratorical  at  first  and  then  quick- 
ening : 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen:  I  wish  to  talk  to  you  to- 
night on  the  subject  of  the  injustice  of  men  to 
women."  Isabel  Joy  was  on  her  feet  and  leaning 
over  the  gallery  rail.  As  she  proceeded,  a  startled 
hush  changed  to  uproar.  And  in  the  uproar  could 
be  caught  now  and  then  a  detached  phrase,  such 
as  "  For  example,  this  man-governed  ship." 

Possibly  it  was  just  this  phrase  that  roused  the 
Northerner  in  the  purser.  He  rose,  and  looked  to- 
ward the  captain's  table.  But  the  captain  was  not 
dining  in  the  saloon  that  evening.  Then  he  strode 
to  the  centre  of  the  saloon,  beneath  the  renowned 
dome  which  has  been  so  often  photographed  for  the 
illustrated  papers,  and  sought  to  destroy  Isabel 
Joy  with  a  single  marine  glance.  Having  failed, 
he  called  out  loudly : 

"  Be  quiet,  madam.     Resume  your  seat." 

Isabel  Joy  stopped  for  a  second,  gave  him  a  glance 
far  more  homicidal  than  his  own,  and  resumed  her 
discourse. 


364  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Steward,"  cried  the  purser,  "  take  that  woman 
out  of  the  saloon." 

The  whole  complement  of  first-class  passengers 
was  now  standing  up,  and  many  of  them  saw  a  plate 
descend  from  on  high,  and  grace  the  purser's  shoul- 
der. With  the  celerity  of  a  sprinter  the  man  of 
authority  from  Durham  disappeared  from  the  ground 
floor  and  was  immediately  seen  in  the  gallery.  Ac- 
counts differed,  afterward,  as  to  the  exact  order  of 
events;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  leader  of  the  band 
lost  his  fiddle,  which  was  broken  by  the  lusty  Isabel 
on  the  Purser's  head.  It  was  known  later  that  Isa- 
bel, though  not  exactly  in  irons,  was  under  arrest 
in  her  stateroom. 

"  She  really  ought  to  have  thought  of  that  for 
herself,  if  she's  as  smart  as  she  thinks  she  is,"  said 
Edward  Henry  privately. 

VI. 

Though  he  was  on  the  way  to  high  success,  his 
anxieties  and  solicitudes  seemed  to  increase  every 
hour.  Immediately  after  Isabel  Joy's  arrest  he  be- 
came more  than  ever  a  crony  of  the  Marconi  oper- 
ator, and  began  to  despatch  vivid  and  urgent  tele- 
grams to  London,  without  counting  the  cost.  On 
the  next  day  he  began  to  receive  replies.  (It  was 
the  most  interesting  voyage  that  the  Marconi  oper- 
ator had  had  since  the  sinking  of  the  Catherine  of 
Siena,  in  which  episode  his  promptness  through  the 
air  had  certainly  saved  two  hundred  lives.)  Ed- 
ward Henry  could  scarcely  sleep,  so  intense  was  his 


ISABEL  365 

longing  for  Sunday  night  —  his  desire  to  be  safe  in 
London  with  Isabel  Joy!  Nay,  he  could  not 
properly  eat !  And  then  the  doubt  entered  his  mind 
whether,  after  all,  he  would  get  to  London  on  Sun- 
day night.  For  the  Lithuania  was  lagging.  She 
might  have  been  doing  it  on  purpose  to  ruin  him. 
Every  day,  in  the  auction-pool  on  the  ship's  run,  it 
was  the  holder  of  the  low  field  that  pocketed  the 
money  of  his  fellow  men.  The  Lithuania  actually 
descended  below  five  hundred  and  forty  knots 
in  the  twenty-four  hours.  And  no  authoritative  ex- 
planation of  this  behaviour  was  ever  given.  Upon 
leaving  New  York  there  had  been  talk  of  reaching 
Fishguard  on  Saturday  evening.  But  now  the  proph- 
esied moment  of  arrival  had  been  put  forward  to 
noon  on  Sunday.  Edward  Henry's  sole  consolation 
was  that  each  day  on  the  eastward  trip  consisted  of 
only  twenty-three  hours. 

Further,  he  was  by  no  means  free  from  appre- 
hension about  the  personal  liberty  of  Isabel  Joy. 
Isabel  had  exceeded  the  programme  arranged  between 
them.  It  had  been  no  part  of  his  scheme  that  she 
should  cast  plates,  nor  even  break  violins  on  the 
shining  crown  of  an  august  purser.  The  purser 
was  angry,  and  he  had  the  captain,  a  milder  man, 
behind  him.  When  Isabel  Joy  threatened  a  hunger- 
strike  if  she  was  not  immediately  released,  the  pur- 
ser signified  that  she  might  proceed  with  her  hunger- 
strike;  he  well  knew  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
her  to  expire  of  inanition  before  the  arrival  at  Fish- 
guard. 


366  THE  OLD  ADAM 

The  case  was  serious,  because  Isabel  Joy  had 
created  a  precedent.  Policemen  and  cabinet  minis- 
ters had  for  many  months  been  regarded  as  the  law- 
ful prey  of  militants,  but  Isabel  Joy  was  the  first  of 
the  militants  to  damage  property  and  heads  which 
belonged  to  persons  of  neither  of  these  classes.  And 
the  authorities  of  the  ship  were  assuredly  inclined  to 
hand  Isabel  Joy  over  to  the  police  at  Fishguard. 
What  saved  the  situation  for  Edward  Henry  was  the 
factor  which  saved  most  situations,  namely,  public 
opinion.  When  the  saloon  clearly  realised  that 
Isabel  Joy  had  done  what  she  had  done  with  the 
pure  and  innocent  aim  of  winning  a  wager,  all  that 
was  Anglo-Saxon  in  the  saloon  ranged  itself  on  the 
side  of  true  sport,  and  the  matter  was  lifted  above 
mere  politics.  A  subscription  was  inaugurated  to  buy 
a  new  fiddle,  and  to  pay  for  shattered  crockery.  And 
the  amount  collected  would  have  purchased,  after 
settling  for  the  crockery,  a  couple  of  dozen  new  fid- 
dles. The  unneeded  balance  was  given  to  seamen's 
orphanages.  The  purser  was  approached.  The 
captain  was  implored.  Influence  was  brought  to 
bear.  In  short  —  the  wheels  that  are  within 
wheels  went  duly  round.  And  Miss  Isabel  Joy, 
after  apologies  and  promises,  was  unconditionally  re- 
leased. 

But  she  had  been  arrested. 

And  then,  early  on  Sunday  morning,  the  ship  met 
a  storm  that  had  a  sad  influence  on  divine  service,  a 
storm  of  the  eminence  that  scares  even  the  brass- 
buttoned  occupants  of  liners'  bridges.  The  rumour 


ISABEL  367 

went  round  the  ship  that  the  captain  would  not  call 
at  Fishguard  in  such  weather. 

Edward  Henry  was  ready  to  yield  up  his  spirit 
in  this  fearful  crisis,  which  endured  two  hours.  The 
captain  did  call  at  Fishguard,  in  pouring  rain,  and 
men  came  aboard  selling  Sunday  newspapers  that 
were  full  of  Isabel's  arrest  on  the  steamer,  and  of 
the  nearing  triumph  of  her  arrival  in  London  be- 
fore midnight.  And  newspaper  correspondents  also 
came  aboard,  and  all  the  way  on  the  tender,  and  in 
the  sheds,  and  in  the  train,  Edward  Henry  and 
Isabel  Joy  were  subjected  to  the  journalistic  experi- 
ments of  hardy  interviewers.  The  train  arrived  at 
Paddington  at  9  P.  M.  Isabel  had  won  by  three 
hours.  The  station  was  a  surging  throng  of  open- 
mouthed  people.  Edward  Henry  would  not  lose 
sight  of  his  priceless  charge,  but  he  sent  Marrier  to 
despatch  a  telegram  to  Nellie,  whose  wifely  interest 
in  his  movements  he  had  till  then  either  forgotten  or 
ignored. 

And  even  now  his  mind  was  not  free.  He  saw  in 
front  of  him  still  twenty-four  hours  of  anguish. 

VII. 

The  next  night,  just  before  the  curtain  went  up, 
he  stood  on  the  stage  of  the  Regent  Theatre,  and  it 
is  a  fact  that  he  was  trembling  —  not  with  fear  but 
with  simple  excitement. 

Through  what  a  day  he  had  passed!  There  had 
been  the  rehearsal  in  the  morning;  it  had  gone  off 
very  well,  save  that  Rose  Euclid  had  behaved  im- 


368  THE  OLD  ADAM 

possibly,  and  that  the  Cunningham  girl,  the  hit  of 
the  piece  but  ousted  from  her  part,  had  filled  the 
place  with  just  lamentations  and  recriminations. 

And  then  had  followed  the  appalling  scene  with 
Rose  Euclid.  Rose,  leaving  the  theatre  for  lunch, 
had  beheld  the  workmen  removing  her  name  from 
the  electric  sign  and  substituting  that  of  Isabel  Joy. 
She  was  a  woman  and  an  artist,  and  it  would  have 
been  the  same  had  she  been  a  man  and  an  artist.  She 
would  not  submit  to  this  inconceivable  affront.  She 
had  resigned  her  role.  She  had  ripped  her  contract 
to  bits  and  flung  the  bits  to  the  breeze.  Upon  the 
whole  Edward  Henry  had  been  glad.  He  had  sent 
for  Miss  Cunningham,  who  was  Rose's  understudy, 
had  given  her  instructions,  called  another  rehearsal 
for  the  afternoon  and  effected  a  saving  of  nearly 
half  Isabel  Joy's  fantastic  salary.  Then  he  entered 
into  financial  negotiations  with  four  evening  papers 
and  managed  to  buy,  at  a  price,  their  contents-bills 
for  the  day.  So  that  all  the  West  End  was  filled 
with  men  and  boys  wearing  like  aprons  posters  which 
bore  the  words:  "  Isabel  Joy  to  appear  at  the  Re- 
gent to-night."  A  great  and  original  stroke! 

And  now  he  gazed  through  the  peep-hole  of  the 
curtain  upon  a  crammed  and  half-delirious  audi- 
torium. The  assistant  stage  manager  ordered  him 
off.  The  curtain  went  up  on  the  drama  in  hexame- 
ters. He  waited  in  the  wings,  and  spoke  soothingly 
to  Isabel  Joy  who,  looking  juvenile  in  the  airy  costume 
of  the  Messenger,  stood  flutteringly  agog  for 
her  cue.  .  .  .  He  heard  the  thunderous  crashing 


ISABEL  369 

roar  that  met  her  entrance.  He  did  not  hear  her 
line. 

He  walked  forth  to  the  glazed  balcony  at  the 
front  of  the  house,  where  in  the  entr'actes  dandies 
smoked  cigarettes  baptised  with  girlish  names.  He 
could  see  Piccadilly  Circus,  and  he  saw  Piccadilly 
Circus  thronged  with  a  multitude  of  loafers,  who 
were  happy  in  the  mere  spectacle  of  Isabel  Joy's 
name  glowing  on  an  electric  sign.  He  went  back 
at  last  to  the  managerial  room.  Marrier  was  there, 
hero-worshipping. 

"  Got  the  figures  yet?  "  he  asked. 

Marrier  beamed. 

"  Two  hundred  and  sixty  pounds.  As  long  as 
it  keeps  up  it  means  a  profit  of  getting  on  for  two 
hundred  a  naight !  " 

"  But,  dash  it,  man, —  the  house  only  holds  two 
hundred  and  thirty !  " 

"  But  my  good  sir,"  said  Marrier,  "  they're  pay- 
ing ten  shillings  a-piece  to  stand  up  in  the  dress- 
circle." 

Edward  Henry  dropped  into  a  chair  at  the  desk. 
A  telegram  was  lying  there,  addressed  to  himself. 

"  What's  this?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Just  cam." 

He  opened  it,  and  read:  "  I  absolutely  forbid 
this  monstrous  outrage  on  a  work  of  art.  Trent." 

"Bit  late  in  the  day,  isn't  he?"  said  Edward 
Henry,  showing  the  telegram  to  Marrier. 

"  Besides,"  Marrier  observed,  "  he'll  come  round 
when  he  knows  what  his  royalties  are." 


370  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Well,"  said  Edward  Henry,  "  I'm  going  to  bed." 
And  he  gave  a  devastating  yawn. 

VIII. 

One  afternoon  Edward  Henry  sat  in  the  king  of 
all  the  easy  chairs  in  the  drawing-room  of  his  house 
in  Trafalgar  Road,  Bursley.  Although  the  month 
was  September,  and  the  weather  warm  even  for  Sep- 
tember, a  swansdown  quilt  lay  spread  upon  his  knees. 
His  face  was  pale,  his  hands  were  paler;  but  his  eye 
was  clear  and  his  visage  enlightened.  His  beard 
had  grown  to  nearly  its  original  dimensions.  On 
a  chair  by  his  side  were  a  number  of  letters  to 
which  he  had  just  dictated  answers.  At  a  neighbour- 
ing table  a  young  clerk  was  using  a  typewriter. 
Stretched  at  full  length  on  the  sofa  was  Robert 
Machin,  engaged  in  the  perusal  of  the  second  edi- 
tion of  that  day's  Signal.  Of  late  Robert,  hav- 
ing exhausted  nearly  all  available  books,  had  been 
cultivating  during  his  holidays  an  interest  in  jour- 
nalism, and  he  would  give  great  accounts,  in  the 
nursery,  of  events  happening  in  each  day's  instal- 
ment of  the  Signal's  sensational  serial.  His  heels 
kicked  idly  one  against  the  other. 

A  powerful  voice  resounded  in  the  lobby,  and 
Doctor  Stirling  entered  the  room  with  Nellie. 

"  Well,  Doc!  "  Edward  Henry  greeted  him. 

"So  you're  in  full  blast  again!"  observed  the 
doctor,  using  a  metaphor  invented  by  the  population 
of  a  district  where  the  roar  of  furnaces  wakens  the 
night. 


ISABEL  371 

"  No !  "  Edward  Henry  protested,  as  an  invalid 
always  will.  "  I'm  only  just  keeping  an  eye  on  one 
or  two  pressing  things." 

"  Of  course  he's  in  full  blast!  "  said  Nellie  with 
calm  conviction. 

"  What's  this  I  hear  about  ye  ganging  away  to  the 
seaside,  Saturday?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Well,  can't  I?  "  said  Edward  Henry. 

"  Ye  can,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Let's  have  a  look 
at  ye,  man." 

"What  was  it  you  said  I've  had?"  Edward 
Henry  questioned. 

"  Colonitis." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  word.  I  thought  I  couldn't  have 
got  it  wrong.  Well,  you  should  have  seen  my 
mother's  face  when  I  told  her  what  you  called  it. 
She  said,  '  He  may  call  it  that  if  he's  a  mind  to,  but 
we  had  another  name  for  it  in  my  time.'  You 
should  have  heard  her  sniff  1  ...  Look  here,  Doc, 
do  you  know  you've  had  me  down  now  for  pretty 
near  three  months?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Stirling.  "  It's  yer  own  obstinacy 
that's  had  ye  down,  man.  If  ye'd  listened  to  yer 
London  doctor  at  first,  mayhap  ye  wouldn't  have  had 
to  travel  from  Euston  in  an  invalid's  carriage.  If 
ye  hadn't  had  the  misfortune  to  be  born  an  obstinate 
simpleton  ye'd  ha'  been  up  and  about  six  weeks  back. 
But  there's  no  doing  anything  with  you  geniuses. 
It's  all  nerves  with  you  and  your  like." 

"  Nerves !  "  exclaimed  Edward  Henry,  pretending 
to  scorn.  But  he  was  delighted  at  the  diagnosis. 


372  THE  OLD  ADAM 

"  Nerves,"  repeated  the  doctor  firmly.  "  Ye  go 
gadding  off  to  America.  Ye  get  yeself  mixed  up  in 
theatres.  .  .  .  How's  the  theatre?  I  see  yer 
famous  play's  coming  to  end  next  week." 

"  And  what  if  it  is?  "  said  Edward  Henry,  jealous 
for  reputations,  including  his  own.  "  It  will  have 
run  for  a  hundred  and  one  nights.  And  right 
through  August,  too !  No  modern  poetry  play  ever 
did  run  as  long  in  London,  and  no  other  ever  will. 
I've  given  the  intellectual  theatre  the  biggest  ad.  it 
ever  had.  And  I've  made  money  on  it.  I  should 
have  made  more  if  I'd  ended  the  run  a  fortnight  ago, 
but  I  was  determined  to  pass  the  hundredth  night. 
And  I  shall  do!" 

"  And  what  are  ye  for  giving  next?  " 

"  I'm  not  for  giving  anything  next,  Doc.  I've  let 
the  Regent  for  five  years  at  seven  thousand  five  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year  to  a  musical  comedy  syndicate, 
since  you're  so  curious.  And  when  I've  paid  the 
ground  rent  and  taxes  and  repairs  and  something 
toward  a  sinking-fund,  and  six  per  cent,  on  my  capital 
I  shall  have  not  far  off  two  thousand  pounds  a  year 
clear  annual  profit.  You  may  say  what  you  like,  but 
that's  what  I  call  business!  " 

It  was  a  remarkable  fact  that,  while  giving  unde- 
manded  information  to  Doctor  Stirling,  Edward 
Henry  was  in  reality  defending  himself  against  the 
accusations  of  his  wife  —  accusations  which,  by  the 
way,  she  had  never  uttered,  but  which  he  thought  he 
read  sometimes  in  her  face.  He  might  of  course 
have  told  his  wife  these  agreeable  details  directly, 


ISABEL  373 

and  in  private.  But  he  was  a  husband,  and,  like 
many  husbands,  apt  to  be  indirect. 

Nellie  said  not  a  word. 

"  Then  you're  giving  up  London?  "  The  doctor 
rose  to  depart. 

"  I  am,"  said  Edward  Henry,  almost  blushing. 

"Why?" 

"  Well,"  the  genius  answered.  "  Those  theatri- 
cal things  are  altogether  too  exciting  and  risky! 
And  they're  such  queer  people  —  Great  Scott! 
I've  come  out  on  the  right  side,  as  it  happens,  but  — 
well,  I'm  not  as  young  as  I  was.  I've  done  with 
London.  The  Five  Towns  are  good  enough  for 
me." 

Nellie,  unable  to  restrain  a  note  of  triumph,  in- 
discreetly remarked  with  just  the  air  of  superior  sa- 
gacity that  in  a  wife  drives  husbands  to  fury  and  to 
foolishness: 

"  I  should  think  so,  indeed!  " 

Edward  Henry  leaped  from  his  chair,  and  the 
swansdown  quilt  swathed  his  slippered  feet. 

"  Nell,"  he  exploded,  clenching  his  hand.  "  If 
you  say  that  once  more  in  that  tone  —  once  more, 
mind !  —  I'll  go  and  take  a  flat  in  London  to-mor- 
row! " 

The  doctor  crackled  with  laughter.  Nellie 
smiled.  Even  Robert,  who  had  completely  ignored 
the  doctor's  entrance,  glanced  round  with  creased 
brows. 

"  Sit  down,  dearest,"  Nellie  quietly  enjoined  the 
invalid. 


374  THE  OLD  ADAM 

But  he  would  not  sit  down,  and,  to  show  his  inde- 
pendence, he  helped  his  wife  to  escort  Stirling  into 
the  lobby. 

Robert,  now  alone  with  the  ignored  young  clerk 
tapping  at  the  table,  turned  toward  him,  and  in  his 
deliberate,  judicial,  disdainful,  childish  voice  said  to 
him: 

"  Isn't  Father  a  funny  man?  " 


THE  END 


DATE  DUE 


PRINTED  IN  US. A. 


A     000  664  466 


